


Beyond Rome

by JacksonX



Category: Spartacus Series (TV), Spartacus: Blood and Sand, Spartacus: Gods of the Arena, Spartacus: Vengeance, Spartacus: War of the Damned
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-05
Updated: 2016-04-12
Packaged: 2018-03-16 10:44:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 24,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3485285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JacksonX/pseuds/JacksonX
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life begins to slow down for a while, as the band of former slaves, led by Agron and Nasir, escape to Gaullia and then Germania. Nasir and Agron attempt to build their relationship in free moments.  There are some unborn children who need protecting from the forces of Rome and ghosts from Agron's past come to haunt him and Nasir.  Some Nagron smut but a lot of character exploration.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Reviews/critiques are welcome! I'm always trying to improve my writing and this story. I have a general idea of where it's going, but not a really set path, so readers can definitely have input!

“Fucking Gauls!” The chest of the shockingly large man rose and fell at a rapid pace as his body dripped sweat and blood to the dirt below. Agron had barely had a chance to sleep over the past two weeks, and even when he had more than a few hours of uninterrupted peace, the nightmares of the final battle, of Caesar, of his own crucifixion, and most of all, of losing Nasir kept him from more than a restless doze. He had been charged with safely escorting the small cadre of women, children, and elderly across the Alps to Gaullia Celtica, safely outside the reach of the Roman Republic. But the heathens that inhabited Gaullia proved to be little better than the monsters that ran Rome. With his wounds from his crucifixion barely closed, Agron still struggled to hold a sword, but he had learned to wield a pike with passable grace. It helped that he could balance the weight of it between his two hands, neither of which were able to grip, but Nasir had fashioned a system of clasps that allowed Agron’s left hand to stay firmly attached to the pike, while his right was able to slide, allowing for close to maximal thrusting power. This had been useful in the most recent attack of a small pack of Gauls that had appeared out of seemingly nowhere. These five men, all similar in feature to Crixus were savage, and had no apparent strategy or purpose other than bloodlust.

  
“They stand defeated, like the rest of their kin. All look, with loving eye, to you as protector and leader. Put tongue to rest and let them not see you shaken.” Nasir furrowed his brow, bringing his hand up to caress his lover’s cheek. He had grown increasingly concerned about Agron’s health, both of body and mind. It was nothing new for Agron to curse the Gauls, but something in his tone and the tired posture of his body brought images of a broken man, returning from the grave to Nasir’s mind. The day that Agron had returned with the other 500 captives from Crassus had simultaneously been the best and worst day of Nasir’s life. To see the body of the man who possessed his heart so broken, almost void of spirit was enough to shatter Nasir’s very soul. But the vision of his lover, once thought dead, stumbling into his arms sent that very same soul soaring toward the heavens. But the long journey since the final battle with Crassus had seen Nasir’s soul returned firmly to ground, weighted by losses of the past and shadows of future losses. Nasir ripped his mind from these dark thoughts, worked a grin onto his face, leaned up and kissed Agron passionately, letting their sweat and blood-soaked faces mash together, tongues clashing in warm embrace.

“Do the gods really favor me so? How is it that each day dawn breaks anew to your heart beating against mine? Mind struggles to envision path ahead that is not guided by your smile.” Agron was well aware that Nasir had been the only thing keeping him tethered to this world. Certainly, he had grown to love and care for Laeda and Sibyl, but none gave him breath.

“Speak not of uncertain future, rather turn mind toward present need. The heavens threaten rain and wind, I would see our camp erected presently. Seek nearest source of water and I shall gather the others and put them to task. Do not stray far, I would not have you from my sight, lest I fear my heart would break.” In the weeks since the final battle, Nasir had quietly been the one to lead the camp. In title, alone, Agron led the remaining former slaves, but he had never been one for words of comfort or inspiration. Nasir had ensured that all remained well in the camp, but ensured that credit was leant toward Agron. Even if he had not done this, Nasir was sure that the former slaves would still revere Agron as he and Nasir provided their only means of protection. Of those that survived the attack of Pompey, and the small group that had waited at the foot of the alps, there had been a total of maybe 100 former slaves remaining.

Within a few hours camp had been set up and all people had huddled into their tents to escape the torrents of rain that escaped from the heavens. Nasir and Agron reveled in the peace that the constant pitter-patter of rain against the roof of their tent presented. Agron held Nasir tightly to his body as they attempted sleep atop a pad of animal skins. Within a few short minutes both men were silent, thankfully delivered into a deep, dreamless slumber. They did not awaken until shortly before dawn the next morning. It was amazing what a change in a man one full night’s rest can make.

Agron groggily opened his eyes aware of the stiffness in his entire body, a pain he had learned to embrace as a daily reminder that he yet lived. He was also surprised to see that he had not moved at all in his sleep, and still clutched Nasir tightly to his chest, his nose pressed firmly into his dark locks. The heat of Nasir’s body further awoke Agron, the softness of his skin pressed against Agron’s own. Careful to not move too quickly, Agron shifted his head and began to plant kisses on his lover’s neck. Nasir stirred but only momentarily. Unsatisfied with this Agron began to rock his hips slightly, rubbing himself into his lover, while gently caressing Nasir’s bicep with his own bandaged hand. Nasir began to awaken, at a painfully slow rate. Agron had reached complete arousal before Nasir had even opened his eyes. The small but mighty Syrian shifted his head, beginning to rotate onto his back to stare into Agron’s eyes.

“It is a gift to see your health returned. I would have you this eager to awake every day.” Nasir smiled as the words slipped slowly from his lips. He cocked his head and waited for the larger man to lean forward and kiss him, as he knew he would. Their lips met and Nasir felt his heart begin to speed. The stubble along Agron’s chin and cheeks scratched his own face in such a way that Nasir never wanted it to stop. Agron had shifted fully on top of Nasir, his arms framing Nasir’s shoulders, his knees clutching the outsides of Nasir’s waist.

“Eagerness to wake, certainly, but I hold no intention of greeting the sun today. I should see my time filled with pursuits better suited for the cover of night.” Agron grinned, bearing his wide toothy smile, dimples forming in his cheeks. He rocked back, feeling Nasir’s hardness rub against his own ass. He leaned forward again kissing Nasir more passionately, the fire truly blazing inside him. They rocked together, wanting to manipulate their bodies and the moment to make the experience last, to bring one another to the point of needing more. Agron brought his lips from Nasir’s mouth to his cheek, then neck, down his chest to his ribs. He licked and kissed the scar along Nasir’s side, sending shivers down the Syrian’s spine. Nasir opened his eyes and craned his neck to see the top of Agron’s head as he kissed his way down to Nasir’s waiting cock. When Agron finally took Nasir into his mouth, they made eye contact and somehow the bigger man managed to smile, as the warmth of his mouth on Nasir sent a wave of pleasure deep through his body. Nasir ran his fingers through Agron’s hair, gently pushing down with his hands while pumping his hips. Agron ran one hand across Nasir’s chest as his other gripped Nasir’s thigh. He had been curious about what it would feel like to have Nasir inside him, to feel dominated by his little man. Today, he thought, as he swirled his tongue around the thick head of Nasir’s manhood, would be that day. Today they would remain in this tent, unencumbered by the burdens of leading the former slaves, free from Rome, free from attacking Gauls. Today, Nasir and Agron would discover each other in the moments of rest they never had over the past two years of fighting and surviving. Agron could feel Nasir’s dick begin to pulse, threatening to pass the point of no return. He lifted his head, wiping his lips with the back of his hand, looking at his lover’s face of ecstasy.

“I would break tradition and have you inside me. I have need to know what it is like.” Nasir was surprised by Agron’s abrupt request. Agron had never really given any sign as to his apparent desires. Nasir had been content to receive Agron, in fact, he reveled in those moments, but he would not deny his lover’s request. But, the surprise of the moment and his unsureness of what to say, led simply to a small chuckle.

“You fucking laugh! I would have you fuck me with your cock rather than your jest.”

“I do not intend harm. I was merely surprised. Of course I will see needs satisfied.” Nasir leaned up, kissing Agron who had been sitting on his heels trapping Nasir’s legs under his substantial thighs. “See hands and knees meet floor and see plan set to motion. I will return with necessary supplies.” Agron shifted his weight, first letting Nasir out from under him, then falling forward until he was on all fours, his ass exposed to the cold mountain air. He closed his eyes, his heart pounding in his ears, the anticipation wetting the head of his cock with precum. He heard Nasir fumbling around with jars, searching for the oil they used to add lubrication. Nasir returned, kneeling behind Agron, his knees resting between Agron’s. Nasir ran one hand down Agron’s spine to the top of his ass. Agron moaned as he felt Nasir’s slick finger rub against the sensitive skin of his hole. He had never been touched there, certainly not like this. It felt like lightning coursing through him.

What happened next happened so quickly that it took Agron moments longer than it should have to process it. He felt Nasir’s finger enter him, sending a sharp pain but one full of pleasure through him, as he let out a moan. At the same time, he heard a scream in the distance and felt the draft of cold air rush into the tent as the opening swung back to reveal the bloodied body of one of the slaves, held by a severe looking Gaul. Nasir rapidly removed his finger from Agron, leaping to his feet to grab his spear, hissing at the Gaul. Agron’s mind raced to try to catch up with the past few moments, the sensation of being filled then rapidly emptied. The unexpected vision and threat at his door. Nasir had already crossed the tent and had the spear at the throat of the Gaul before Agron had even risen to find his pike. Alas, he thought, the blessings from the gods had reached their limit. Maybe after this situation had been resolved, he could return to his pleasure and education. “Fucking Gauls.”


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new character added to the mix. Agron finally gets what he's been wanting.

Standing completely naked, and more than mildly irritated, Agron snarled at the Gaul “Speak, or see fucking life ended. Who are you?” The Gaul released the bloodied body of the former slave, Agron was unsure of his name, but he had been many in years. Much to Agron’s surprise, the old man stirred once he was released, he was not yet gone from this world.

“I know little of Roman tongue,” the Gaul stammered out slowly, as if forming the words pained him. Certainly, the point of Nasir’s spear poking into his throat, causing a thin line of red blood to trickle down his skin was not helping the case. The man began speaking again, this time in a tongue akin to that of his own people, “You speak as a Roman, but your tongue betrays your homelands. You were born across the river, were you not?”

“I was, but your tongue sounds equally pained by my language as it was by that of the Romans. I ask again, and never more, who are you?”

“I am called Eavon. I was born not far from here, but frequently cross the river to trade goods with those east of the Rhine. Apologies for harming your man. I was unsure of the nature of your camp. Whispers of Roman invasion are carried upon the breeze, and I would see that not the case. If you would have your boy remove spear from throat I would break further words.”

“Fuck the gods. Nasir, lower spear. Eavon, remove self from tent, I shall join you presently.” The gaul, nodded gently, backing slowly out of the tent, as Nasir lowered his spear. Agron muttered further curses as he pulled an animal skin blanket over his naked body, preparing to brave the cold. Nasir, still unaware of what was said, given his lack of understanding for Agron’s native tongue, watched Agron intently, a look of confusion mixing with that of concern, apparent on his face.

“Fear not, I shall return. See your spear raised upon my arrival.” Agron grinned widely, before placing both of his large hands on either side of the Syrian’s face, pulling him in for the briefest of kisses. With that, Agron left the tent.

“Jupiter’s cock, it’s cold. Eavon, I am Agron, leader and defender of these people. You spoke briefly of Roman invasions. Thicken tale with meat or see it and its bearer discarded as scraps.”

“Apologies for brevity, thoughts prove hard to form when such hard form is present.” The Gaul eased into his posture, only slightly, allowing a small smile to escape. He was a slight man, somewhere between the size of Agron and Nasir. His hair was dark, but his skin as fair as Sibyl’s. “Troops of Romans have expanded in ever increasing numbers, laying waste to all in their path. They speak of peace and defense in one breath and use the next to enslave any able body. My family trades goods with many others, as I mentioned before. We cross the river to trade, but also trade with those South of us. Those furthest South can no longer be reached without stumbling over Roman guard.”

“We came from South and saw no sign of Romans for at least three days.”

“You travel through mountain and forest, the path of those with little to lose. The Romans advance by surer route, as a raindrop finds its way to the ground by easiest path. Within weeks time, the Romans will be upon us, first to observe only, but by this time next year they will have taken over. I would fight, but few of my kin will stand with me.”

“You speak as if to entice. It has been too many days that my sword has been dry of Roman blood. But first, explain how old man came to be grievously wounded?” As he mentioned his sword, Agron’s heart sunk and his hand began to ache. He could not bring himself to claim the pike as his own. One day he would again be able to pick up sword. Until then, though, a pike would suffice.

“As a snake backed into a corner, I have been prepared to strike at Roman hand that pose even mild threat. I saw only red cloak and sword and sought to end battle before it began.”

“I did not see sword upon arrival. Upon what ground did you attack?”

“Beyond furthest tent, if you are willing to follow I would show you very spot and sword that was dropped by untrained hands upon my first and only blow.”

“No need. I would see myself return to tent and more entertaining activities. We will not be long upon these grounds.”

“You will not stay and see Romans gone for good.”

“As hard as cock becomes at thought of spilt Roman blood, these people are not warriors. When were many and skilled we sought to strike at the very heart of Rome, a choice that saw good men to their graves and many to the cross. So no, we will not stay.” Agron had been unconsciously rubbing his palm since he mentioned his sword, but when he spoke of crucifixion his hands stilled, almost as if to prevent Eavon from noticing the wounds where nails had once resided.

“You struck at the heart of Rome? Do you speak of Spartacus and his men? Did you know the man?”

“You have heard tale of Spartacus? I knew him well, considered him as brother. I buried him and any thought of seeing Rome in ashes a two week journey South, at base of Alps.”

“Heart weighs heavy for our shared loss. In the brother you buried, you also buried flame of hope carried by my people. Spartacus, slayer of death, was to serve as savior to all from Rome. He was going to see Roman heel removed from throat.” The Gaul had begun to speak quickly, the excitement building in his voice, despite his discomfort with the language. Agron felt his eyes begin to burn, as his hands clenched. He had fought so hard to protect against thoughts of his fallen brother, but here, a stranger, spoke as if he had right to mourn him.

“I take leave.” Agron spit out through gritted teeth. He spun on his heel, leaving the excited Gaul motionless staring at him through the crisp air. Agron fought back tears, clenching his jaw until he reached his tent. He shed the animal skin blanked at he ducked into the tent, pleased to see Nasir standing, erect, glistening with oil.

“I do as commanded.” Nasir smiled, scanning Agron for a hint of what had happened. Before being able to say anything else, Nasir found himself pulled into a rough embrace. Agron’s arms had encircled him, pulling him in closely, one hand firmly grabbing Nasir’s ass while the other pulled his hair. Nasir was used to Agron’s passion, but usually it followed battle or arguments over Castus. Nasir, determined to fulfill Agron’s earlier request, dropped to his knees, bringing Agron’s length into his mouth. Nasir began sucking, while he massaged Agron’s ass, working his way in toward his hole. When the Syrian’s fingers found Agron’s entrance, they began to prod and massage it, causing Agron to noticeably shudder. Nasir seized his opportunity, and dropped one arm behind Agron’s knees and used the other to push him backwards, so he fell onto the pad of animal skins on which they had been resting earlier. Agron chuckled in surprise, but Nasir, unshaken by this distraction, returned to working Agron’s cock and ass. He licked and massaged the entire area, warming and loosening Agron, teasing him to the point where the giant man was whining for the Syrian to fuck him.

“Nasir, please, for fuck’s sake, fuck me already.” Nasir rose to his knees, pulling Agron’s thick legs onto his shoulders. He inched forward, letting the slick head of his cock rest against Agron’s pulsing hole. “Please, Nasir. Fuck me.” Not afraid of hurting him, knowing that Agron preferred a little pain with his pleasure, Nasir plunged in, full-force.

“Fuck the gods.” Agron growled as he felt the burning and stabbing pain of taking Nasir into him. As the Syrian began to pump, Agron felt the pain begin to subside and give way to pleasure. “Oh, Jupiter’s cock. This, oh fuck the gods, this this what I have been missing?” Agron threw his head back in ecstasy as Nasir raked his nails across his chest, careful to avoid Agron’s wounds. Nasir kissed and caressed Agron’s calves, as he continued to thrust in and out of his lover.

“Agron, I—“ but Nasir was caught by surprise, and unleashed his load deep into Agron, his pulsing cock sending jets of cum into Agron’s ass. This was too much for Agron, who had, until then, been trying to avoid stroking his own cock. Only a few pumps later, and he erupted, sending thick globs of cum into his hair, onto is face, covering his chest and stomach. Nasir moaned in pleasure at the feeling of Agron’s ass tightening with each load unleashed He loved the look of pain and pleasure on Agron’s face, the veins straining to escape his meaty neck, his face and chest flush with passion and satisfaction. As Agron’s orgasm subsided, the large man finally released his breath, and began to try to slow his breathing to normal pace. He had not realized how sweaty he and Nasir had become, until he reached up to pull Nasir in for a kiss and felt his hand slip across Nasir’s slickened neck. Nasir, gently removed himself from Agron, then released both of Agron’s legs from his shoulders. As he turned to lie down in his lover’s arms, a shadow in the corner of his eye caught his attention. Nasir turned further to examine the shadow and saw, much to his surprise, the Gaul from before, crouching down, naked, stroking himself. Both of the men had been so engrossed in each other and the moment that they failed to notice a stranger half-hiding, masturbating in their tent. Good thing he was not a Roman. Nasir caught shocked himself as he simply just rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath, “Fucking Gauls.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A relationship revelation, and a death.

Nasir whispered into Agron’s ear, as the two men stared at the intrusion in their tent. “Choose a path, violence in measure, or sleep?”

“I’d have violence, but legs spin another story. They threaten to crumble if attempt to stand is made. Is it always like this?” Agron was still reveling in post-coital bliss, his chest rising and falling rapidly, sweat still dripping from his naked body. The Gaul masturbating in the corner was only of mild concern at the moment.

“Not always. Would you prefer I dispatched the Gaul? My legs yet work only my cock needs rest.” Agron groaned mulling Nasir’s offer over in his head. Meanwhile, the Gaul continued to slowly pump himself, staring at the two naked warriors. Agron raised himself up onto his forearms, lifting his back off the ground so he could better look at the Gaul. “You there,” he shouted in his native tongue, “Finish and take leave. Do not return and do not mistake lack of action for kindness. The scales of desire tip in favor of furthered rest over new conflict.” Nasir, unable to follow the conversation, but expecting Agron to have dismissed the Gaul, was surprised when, after Agron had finished talking, the Gaul continued to please himself.

“Agron, what words left your tongue that the Gaul would continue?”

“I told him to finish and leave. I care not to leave your side, nor would I have you leave mine.”

“Knowledge that lack of action comes from warm heart does not escape me, but did thought that returning to object of sexual passions for stranger would be unpleasant for a former body slave?” Nasir was shocked that the words came out of his mouth. He had given very little thought to his former days as a slave, instead focusing on the present time he had with Agron and learning the skills of a warrior. This intrusion on his private intimacy with Agron stirred feelings that lie dormant, unknown to, or at least forgotten by, the Syrian. He began to tremble, partially because the cold of the air on his naked flesh was beginning to register with him as the euphoria of sex subsided, but also in fear and sadness. Agron pulled him in closer, covering themselves with a fur.

“Apologies. I did not think. I knew not that you held such feelings toward subject. Here, take spear and end life, and with it unpleasant moment and thoughts.” Agron leaned over grabbing Nasir’s spear that was resting on the ground next to him. Nasir took the spear in his grasp, contorting his body to get better leverage with which to throw it. The Gaul had closed his eyes when the two covered themselves with the fur, and had begun to beat faster, nearing his climax. But before orgasm descended upon him, he was impaled by a spear, loosed by passionate but steady hands of the Syrian.

“We speak of future and of others in present, and of distant past, but little of time as slaves. I would not see your heart abused by such words, but if you feel desire to break words on subject, they would be well received.” Agron’s voice shook a little.

“I have no need to revisit memories of my time as a slave. Problem lies not with past, but with present. I once swore to the gods to remain always at your side. And in return you swore to fight Jupiter himself should he try to wrest me from your arms. I am not a child in need of protection. I am a man in love and only threat to me is object of affections.”

“Meaning is lost in the ever tightening circles of words. Straighten them and let your wishes be known.” Agron shifted onto his side, his heart beginning to race. He felt as if his stomach had vacated his body, and his legs felt as if they were made of lead.

“I would have you see me as equal. I would have you value my wishes as your own, as I do for you.”

“Apologies. I did not realize you were unhappy.”

“You did not realize because I am not. I am happy, Agron. Happier today than any day that has come before. But, if we are to chase dreams to our graves, I would do so as your valued equal.” Both men had silent tears streaming down their faces. Agron, pulled Nasir closer to him, kissing him deeply and slowly, with a new kind of passion with which Nasir was unfamiliar. He had grown accustomed to aggression and desperation driving the passion in their relationship. Fear of certain death, overwhelming lust of blood spilt or days without loving embrace. But this was new. Agron kissed Nasir as if he feared he had already lost him, as if to apologize for any misstep in the past or future. He kissed Nasir to heal wounds he himself inflicted, not those inflicted by others.

“I love you, Nasir. Heart breaks with thought of your suffering at my own ignorance. Before you, I believed I had but one purpose in this life: to fight and kill. But you opened my eyes to love and a future filled with peace, not war. I fought for you. Now, I realize that such need does not exist. You are capable of fighting for the both of us. You are a better man than I, deserving of someone you can call your equal. I thought I had only my strength to give you, but now I do not even have that.”

“I do not love you for your strength you fool. I love you for your heart, for your smile, for your warmth. You say I deserve my equal, and yet speak as if you and he do not share body and soul. Agron, you are more than my equal, you are my other half. I am confident that the future will see us to many battles. I am equally sure that from now until we cease to breath, we will value and regard each other as equals.”

“How? How can you speak with such confidence? I have given you no reason to have faith in my ability.”

“I have faith in your soul, Agron. There exists no doubt that we will both misstep and take the other’s love as a certainty, even when we cannot say the same about our lives. But, I have faith that we can right our own course. I have more faith in you and me, Agron, than all of Rome has in the gods.”

“I love you Nasir. I have but one more question for you. What would you have me do with the body of the Gaul?” Agron grinned, dimples appearing in his cheeks. He stood, wiping his tears with the back of his bandaged hands.

“See him taken from the tent and then see yourself return to my embrace, I would have rekindled needs satisfied." Agron crossed the room and removed Nasir’s spear from the body of the Gaul. As he hoisted the body over his shoulder, Agron winced a bit, pain shooting through his hands. Even in death the Gaul was causing him pain. “Fucking Gauls”


	4. Fucking...well not fucking Gauls...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sexytimes at the end. Readers be warned.

It had been nearly a month since Agron and Nasir had discussed the future direction of their relationship as equals. Each dawn brought with it new challenges: food shortages, disease, attacking Gauls, attacking Romans, and yet the two rose above it all, together. In that time, Laeda and Sibyl had also grown closer to Agron and Nasir, more so with the latter. Nasir had taken to giving the two women special combat lessons, after he finished training the larger group of women and feeble men. Agron sought to ensure that all members of their camp who were of age were able to defend themselves against attack. Nasir had been the one to devise the plan in which he taught those who did not have brute strength on their side, attacks that focused on agility and capitalized on the strength of the opponent. Agron, on the other hand, was to focus on training the others in a fashion similar to gladiators, though neither of the men held hope that any of their tribe of former slaves would be equal to even the poorest gladiators. It was late one night, after the rest of the camp had returned to their tents, that Agron, Nasir, Laeda, and Sibyl sat around a tiny fire, a routine habit for the four of them.

  
“The women show great improvement under Nasir’s guidance. You should be proud of your lover, Agron.” Laeda sought to pay Nasir a compliment, not just for training her, but for giving her purpose. She finally felt worth something. Even as a free Roman woman, one with substantial power, she never considered herself as more than her husband’s wife; her greatest challenge swaying him this way or that on a decision that truly did not impact her. But now, she held life in her hands, not just her own but that of those she defended, and those she killed. She owed that all, well mostly, to Nasir. Her heart skipped a beat, as her mind came to rest on the thought of Spartacus, the man she had begun to love, the man that had taken everything from her and showed her that the sum of nothing was more than all of the riches of the Roman Republic. But, even their relationship had been one of power to Laeda. She loved him, of that she was sure, but she had still just considered herself a follower of Spartacus or a lover of Spartacus. Now, she was something on her own.

“Pride overwhelms the heart every day. Though, concerning great improvement, I am unconvinced. I fear little improvement made and expect no further gains. These people are not fighters, they are the weak and helpless given sword and told to fight. How are we to rip freedom from Roman grasp and hold it against claws of Gauls when the best fighters not seated here are a new mother, a man older than the fucking gods, and two brothers barely able to grow beards?” Agron had been in a foul mood all day. It wasn’t anything in particular, but rather the lack of excitement. His wounds had mostly healed, he was finally able to grip a sword, almost as well as when he was under the roof of the house of Batiatus. His nightmares had started to fade, the faces of Spartacus, Gannicus, Duro, Saxa, Naevia, and even Crixus, beginning to change from haunting specters of friends and brothers lost, to comforting images of free brothers and friends waiting for him on the shores of the afterlife. Agron itched for serious battle, not the minor skirmishes that had become common in the past month. He wanted to honor the memory of those he loved by taking down the Republic, but he had a duty to first see this band of survivors to safety. Though, he was beginning to doubt that safety would ever truly exist.

“You sit surrounded by those once thought weak and helpless. Fragility and beauty were all that defined us. Yet, now we stand your equals in battle, as many Romans and Gauls falling by our blades as yours. These people, your people, choose to fight rather than to remain in any of the villages we have passed. They choose to bear arms and risk life for a cause that has begun to fade into distant memory. If you hope for gains, you must first believe in their potential, then reignite the flame of passion that faded to embers with the death of Spartacus.” The words tumbled out of Sybil’s lips. Her life had become a sea of change, never the same when she awoke as it was when the sun set. Throughout all of these changes, she had found an inner strength that she did not realize she had possessed. This strength had, in turn, changed her. She was stronger, both of mind and body. She had killed countless men, and no longer shed tear for their passing. But, even as strong as she had become, giving voice to her thoughts, particularly when they stood in opposition to those of a man such as Agron, filled her heart with panic. Her chest and face flushed red with embarrassment and she felt a physical need to withdraw her statement, but she stood ground, biting her lip and staring Agron in the eyes.

Agron paused, meeting the slight woman’s gaze, clenching his jaw. She was right. He knew she was; he just hated admitting he was wrong. He swallowed, giving himself time to process the moment before his lips pulled into a smile, he tilted his head back, and laughed. “Your words cut to point as well as would your sword. There is no need to fear speaking mind. Fuck the gods, it pains me to speak these words, you are right. I dismiss hope too quickly. I need only to look to present company to realize hope exists that all may be carved into weapons. Hope is hard to keep when future is so uncertain. Plans must be made. The days of merely surviving are now behind us. I seek greater purpose. I would burn Rome. But I would do so only with those who are willing and able. We must deposit those who long for full lives and those who do not believe themselves capable of battle, before setting to path. Laeda fetch maps, I would know location of nearest village.”

The young woman rose to her feet gracefully, her years as a Roman aristocrat, though seemingly far behind her, leaving mark in movement. She ducked into the nearest tent and returned with a handful of rolled up maps. For the next hour, in the flickering glow of the fire, the four leaders of what remained of the defeated rebellion plotted and schemed. Determining their future movements, contingency plans, and dreams of a nation burned to the ground and all men and women living free among the ashes. Despite these dreams, each of the four harbored a silent but shared doubt in the possibility of success. They each knew that they were far more likely to meet their deaths in the coming months rather than set blaze to all of Rome. Yet, they persevered laughing and excitedly whispering, talking as if an upheaval of the monstrous Rome were as simple as fetching water with which to bathe. They had all lost so much to Rome and in the name of the rebellion that it only seemed right that they, too, would one day meet their end on the battlefield. When they all finally retired to their tents, thoughts of those they fought for swam in their heads. Laeda, dreaming of Spartacus, of the children she would never bear, curled up next Sibyl who still silently wept for Gannicus every night, the thought of him nailed to a cross and hung naked in the sun for animals and Romans to pick at and beat as the life slowly slipped from his body. The moment she had heard of the thousands of rebels crucified on the Appian Way, including her Gannicus, the man once lost to himself that she had taken home but far too late, still haunted her. She was a much stronger woman than when she first laid eyes upon Gannicus, but her heart had been ripped apart, never to be healed. She would never truly be whole, but it mattered not. She would, one day soon, be reunited with Gannicus, her savior and the man she saved.

One tent over, Agron and Nasir lay together in silence, their naked bodies pressed together, but moving only to breathe. Agron held Nasir as if this were the last night they had together, he did not fear death, nor did he fear for the death of his lover, but what little life they had left he would see it spent with Nasir and spent wisely. He whispered into the Syrian’s ear “Sleep will not come to me this evening. Do you find it equally elusive?”

Nasir, eyes misty with tears shed for the memories of those lost and for the future he knew he was destined to never have, responded simply by spinning around to face the larger man. “Sleep might have come, but I would rather it held advance, in favor of more satisfying endeavors.” He craned his neck up, allowing his lips to meet Agron’s, a kiss that started with tenderness and care and sorrow the quickly dissolved into a crashing of waves of passion. The two warriors had resigned, long ago, to their fated demises, but once again their imminent deaths weighed heavy, forcing them to seek comfort in each other, in the touch of the other man, in a fiery kiss that mixed pain and pleasure to mirror their lives. Nasir used his left hand, which had been gripping the nape of Agron’s neck to push down on the Gladiator’s right shoulder, bringing him to his back, allowing Nasir to straddle him. The Syrian dragged his fingers across Agron’s chest, leaving angry red marks behind on his skin. This sort of play had always been appealing to the two men; men who lived lives of pain and passion, of rage and love. The two could not be separated. Nasir ran his hands up Agron’s sides as he leaned forward at the hips, bringing his face down to meet his lover’s, his thick brown hair falling around them like a curtain, protecting them from the world outside.

Agron’s passion raged throughout his body, his cock pulsing and radiating the heat of desire, a heat felt strongly by Nasir’s ass. Agron gripped his little man’s ass cheeks, pulling them apart and pushing the man forward, deeper into their kiss. As he did so, the Syrian tightened his grip on the larger man’s hair, causing him to throw his head back in pleasure. “Nasir, let the gods strike me dead tonight, that my last memories be of you on top of me. But, if they have mercy, let them wait until I am inside you.”

“Do not be foolish. The gods would no sooner strike you dead this evening as they would see Rome ablaze. But, I do expect you to fill me presently. I would not wait long for the feeling of your cock in ass.” As he heard this, Agron could not help but grin, a wide toothy grin, the same smile that betrayed his youth and his eagerness. The gladiator wrapped his arms around the Syrian and twisted their bodies in one smooth motion so that he was now on top, his knees on the outsides of Nasir’s legs, their chests touching. He planted kisses down the Syrian’s dark chest, lingering a bit at his nipples, at the prominent scar, down toward Nasir’s bellybutton, further still, flicking his tongue across Nasir’s throbbing member. Agron hoisted the Syrian up, so his ass was exposed and easily reached. The gladiator dove in, his tongue circling and prodding, wetting the spot and preparing it for later entry.

Nasir still had not grown accustomed to being prepared for entry. He was used to his days as a body slave where only concern was shown for the pleasure of his dominus, or whomever his dominus favored with Nasir’s body. Now, Agron always took care to ensure that sex was mostly pleasure and that pain was only used to multiply the sensations. Nasir felt truly and deeply blessed in that moment, despite the horrors he and his lover had been subjected to over the past years. Nasir’s heart beat rapidly urged on both by the warm wet pressure of Agron’s tongue at his hole and the thoughts of his blessings from whatever gods might actually exist. He could not help but smile and fought the urge to close his eyes and succumb to the pleasure, in favor of watching his lover align their hips, bringing the tip of his throbbing head to Nasir’s entrance.

The gladiator fought every urge within himself to just maintain position, letting the sensation of himself at Nasir’s hole bring the Syrian to a whining, begging mess. His little man squirmed underneath him, trying to force himself upon Agron’s length, but the larger man kept himself on the outside until he could no longer stand it. In one swift motion, he pushed his entirety into Nassir, resulting in a sharp inhale followed by a moan of pleasure from the Syrian. Agron grunted deeply something that originated from his belly, the tight warmth of Nasir’s ass was a gift straight from the gods. The two men writhed together, pushing and pulling, moaning and growling. Sweat poured from both of them as they made love, as they both raced toward orgasm. Agron moved to his knees bringing Nasir up with him as he did, continuing to plunge himself in and out of his lover. Nasir gripped the gladiator’s waist tightly with his thighs, bouncing up and down on Agron’s length, feeling his own cock slide between their two slick bodies. Nasir brought both of his hands around Agron’s face, looking down into his gorgeous eyes, before tossing his head back in delight, pleasure getting the best of him. He pulled on Agron’s hair, forcing the larger man to fall to his back as Nasir continued to ride him to the brink of orgasm. Agron, wrapped one of his hands in Nasir’s hair pulling hard enough to cause a bit of pain but gently enough to do no harm. His other hand wrapped around Nasir’s cock which was leaking a steady stream of pre-cum. He pumped faster and faster, feeling Nasir’s ass tighten in wave after wave of pleasure until finally, the Syrian let out a whine and exploded, shooting semen past Agron’s head, into his hair, across his face, his chest, and his abs. The sensation of Nasir cumming was enough to push Agron over the edge who unloaded rope after rope of thick seed into his lover’s ass.

 The two men rode their orgasms together until they were spent, Nasir collapsing onto Agron, paying no mind to the cum now covering them both, Agron slowly slipping out of his ass. They kissed tenderly, caressing one another as they could, trying to regain sense and control over breathing. “Agron, I am with you, always, in this life, and whatever follows. You want to see Rome burn? Pass torch and carry pitch and see it done. But promise me, if we succeed, we can rest at last as one? I would have a lifetime more of nights like this, I would not be robbed of you or your cock by Romans, even if it in glorious battle.”

Agron, groggy with the weight of post-orgasm bliss, fluttered his eyes open, still stroking his lover’s hair. “I burn Rome for you, for us. I would always have you by my side, as I would always be at yours. I do not rest well, as my hands know only battle, but if rest is accompanied by many more nights like this, then I believe they can learn to be stilled. I swear by all of the gods, we will rest together as one, whether Rome burns or not. I love you Nasir. I love you with all of my body and soul, with all of the life this world has to offer and more. I choose, as a freeman, to spend eternity in your arms, and not a day less.


	5. Where do we go from here?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Existential crisis and a new path? Plus...some sexy times.

Agron awoke slowly, the warmth of Nasir’s head on his chest anchoring him in consciousness, allowing his mind to slowly fight and struggle against the mists that separate sleep from wakefulness. As he finally fluttered his eyes open Agron’s thoughts became clearer, the shroud of sleep having finally lifted. He had always felt purpose and meaning in his life: to fight, to conquer, to survive. But now that he finally had a moment to rest, a moment to enjoy the love and warmth of another, Agron felt split in two. His breath caught in his chest and panic began to overwhelm him as his thoughts took shape, focusing on the two paths he was considering walking. One path led to almost certain death, a glorious death, in battle, alongside Nasir, in attempt to take down Rome. The other led to some isolated house in the hills somewhere far outside the reach of Rome, where neither would pick up a sword again, grow old and die slowly and fade from memory. Agron had always accepted that he would die young, had embraced that thought, longed for it since Duro’s death. But now that he had Nasir, dying young seemed a frivolous waste of the time they might have together. He knew that whatever choice he made, Nasir would follow him with love.

  
Agron felt an intense urge to just move, to flee from this decision, to leave it in Nasir’s hands or ignore it altogether. Instead, he kept silent and still, waging war in his mind, waiting for the dust and blood to settle before setting upon a course of action. He both dreaded and longed for his Syrian to wake up. He needed to share the burden of his thoughts, something he only recently had learned to do, after much prodding from Nasir. Agron knew, though, that when Nasir awoke, he would have to make a decision shortly after. Almost as if the former body slave could sense Agron’s thoughts, he lifted his head, snuggling closer into Agron’s side, and opened his eyes.

  
“It yet amazes how well I sleep in your arms.” Nasir groggily spoke, his eyes working to focus upon Agron’s face. When they finally found their mark, they were met by the worry and consternation etched upon his lover’s face. Confusion arose within Nasir, rapidly working its way to his face and soon upon his voice “And, yet, you do not seem to share thought?”

“Apologies. Certainly thought is shared, that is not what bothers.” Agron spoke slowly and then paused, the next words balancing on his tongue like waves about to crash. When finally he had mustered up the courage and could no longer keep the tide of words contained, he let his thoughts tumble out of him at a rapid pace, pausing only to breathe when absolutely necessary. “I am fucking torn between glory and love. Nasir, never has my purpose been of concern. Blood and steel were all that defined my existence. Even after Duro died I did not question the path I was on, instead letting the bloodlust and need for revenge set my feet to purpose, blinding me to all else. Even the love we shared, a love that could rip the heavens apart, was not strong enough to turn me from that path. But since my return to your arms, delivered by the fucking gods themselves from the Roman shits and their cross, two fires blaze inside my chest. One burns brightly as it has since my capture, aching to blaze, turning Rome to ash. The other started as lone spark but has grown to unexpected size, guiding me through the dark to a home in your arms, far from Rome, far from glory and honor. I must extinguish one before I lose myself in these conflicting flames. Nasir, I beg of you, I would have you make choice. I cannot bear weight of choice alone.”

Nasir had been lying quietly on his side, staring intently into Agron’s green eyes. Although his heart broke to hear that his lover was in such pain and feeling so conflicted, a small part of him that he tried—in vain—to deny existed felt elated that Agron had finally, truly, openly expressed his fears and emotions with him. Nasir loved every bit of Agron, except maybe his jealous streak, but above all he loved the insecure, soft, loving man that was hidden so deeply beneath the warrior’s exterior.

“Agron, as always, my place is by your side. If you wish for me to give voice to desire, then I must admit I long to lay down arms. You have awoken a warrior within me, given me strength and courage enough to slay legions until I walk upon the shores of the afterlife. But, Agron, I would grow old with you. My heart aches for it. Glory and honor do not call to me, nor does a city of ashes. It is for you, Agron, that I fight. It is for you that I live. I have faced a lifetime without you and that is not a vision I would see fulfilled, nor an experience I would have relived. Of course I will follow you down either path, but if you are sincere in your wishes to be free of choice, then I would douse the flame that seeks to further ignite rebellion and see us far from Rome, kindling added to the blaze of our love.”

Agron could not help but smile and run his hand through Nasir’s hair. “Know that words give comfort, but does thought of dying without purpose not give fright? Can we truly find happiness in a life without the thrill of battle? We burn brightly, Nasir, and I must believe that the passion of war gives life to our fire. A mundane routine would see me to the afterlife more quickly than any Roman blade. Can you make promise that we will find method of quickening pulse once sword and spear have found permanent rest?” At these words, Nasir grinned fiendishly, letting his free hand that had been resting upon Agron’s chest slide down Agron’s front, past his rippling abs, through his thick patch of pubes to the base of his cock.

“Does pulse quicken now?” Nasir grasped Agron’s length as the larger man grunted, the two refused to break eye contact.

 

“Nasir, will hand still be as eager to stroke cock after a day of milking goats? Will you still want me when I am covered not in blood of the enemy but in the shit of our herd?”

“I will want you, always. Covered in blood or piss or shit, I will want you. And I will have you” With that, Nasir released his grip on Agron’s now hardened flesh, and straddled him, placing his hands roughly upon his lover’s chest and grinding up and down against the sizable length.

“Attention is not diverted so easily, Nasir” Agron grumbled as he reached up to pinch Nasir’s nipples. “Fear of the future is still held.” Nasir leaned down as Agron spoke, licking up his jaw to his earlobe, where he gently and playfully nibbled, causing a tingle to run up and down the gladiator’s entire side. “Set thoughts of unknown future aside. Focus on present and task at hand. I need you, in present place and in present time, that is something you now know without doubt. Certainly that is more appealing than cloudy thoughts of future yet discovered.” Agron squirmed with pleasure, feeling Nasir’s smooth ass checks rubbing against his own sensitive cock.

 

With a low growl rumbling in his throat, Agron wrapped his arms around Nasir and twisted their bodies so the Syrian landed on his back, with Agron on top of him. Almost frantically, Agron groped around them, searching for the vial that held oil to increase ease of entry. Finding it, the large man leaned back onto his haunches, taking in the sight of his lover while his hands fumpled with the vial, trying to coax the smooth liquid out onto his hand. Having finally wetted his hand with oil, Agron brought it down to Nasir’s entrance, working the oil in, slickening the hole that he would soon fill. He pushed two fingers into Nasir, curling his fingers inward, once they were buried to his scarred knuckles. The soft flesh inside Nasir enveloped Agron’s digits, warming them and squeezing them, while the Syrian gyrated against the pressure the German provided, coaxing a stream of clear liquid out of his own cock. After what felt like an eternity, Agron could take the teasing no more, he used what oil remained on his hand to slicken his shaft and head, leaned into a deep kiss with Nasir, while aligning the tip of his penis with Nasir’s now achingly empty hole. “Please” Nasir whined through their clashing teeth,

“Please, Agron. I need you. I need to feel you.” Nasir tightly grabbed Agron’s hair, pulling him in closer, sending a mixture of pleasure and pain rippling through the large man’s body, while the Syrian tried to grind against his dick, longing for it to enter of its own accord. Agron broke their kiss, staring down at the face of the man he intended to spend the rest of his life with, a life he suddenly realized with conviction that he wanted, no he needed to last longer than a few months or years. With thoughts of love and a lifetime together filling his head, Agron pushed into Nasir, burying himself to the hilt in one swift motion, while intently watching the unbridled pleasure wash across his lover’s face.

“Until we are feeble, Nasir, I will be with you. Fuck Rome. Fuck glory. Fuck the gods. I’ll live forever by your side.” Agron practically growled these words, punctuating each with a heavy thrust of his hips. Nasir could not contain his smile, brought on by the feeling of Agron inside him and Agron’s commitment to a long, shared life. The Syrian reached up with one hand, raking his nails across Agron’s chest, “Harder.” His other hand wrapped around his own throbbing cock and began pumping in rhythm with his German’s thrusts. As Agron picked up the pace, Nasir moaned in sheer ecstasy. Soon, both men released their seed, panting heavily, eventually collapsing into a deep embrace.

“So, what now? Where does chosen path lead?” Agron questioned his lover.

“Patience. We must first dress and leave bed, but I would have a few more moments before we do so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave feedback. I'm always looking to improve.


	6. Why is the Path Unclear?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet some new characters. Argument between Laeda and Agron. The beginning of the next chapter in their lives.

A while later the two men ducked out of their tent, laughing about nothing in particular, just happy to be together, alive, and set upon a path. Waiting for them in the bright light of mid-day were Laeda and Sibyl, as well as a handful of refugees. Laeda had hardened over the past few months. Her skin was tanned, scarred, and taught, nothing like the soft, milky flesh she used to pamper with rose water. Her face had become more angular, losing the gentle, warm roundness and replacing it with a harshness that reflected the woman she had become. The Roman aristocrat had died long ago, her body and very soul changing and adapting to the pressures placed upon her. The bubbled scar on her forearm, that once signified her fall from Rome into the waiting arms of the rebels, now stood as a point of pride, as the beginning of her re-birth. Through the burn of Heracleo’s rod, Laeda was thrust upon a path that would set her ablaze, giving her purpose and meaning. And now, that blaze was set further to purpose, eager to set fire to Rome under the command of Agron. Her body was practically vibrating with eagerness as she strode toward Agron, the remains of her tattered dress, the final symbol of her Roman days, clinging tightly to her hips and chest, showing more skin than they covered. “Agron, best fighters have been gathered so plans forged last night can be discussed once more before being shared with the rest of the people.”

The smile faded quickly from Agron’s face. He reached out, placing his hand upon the small of Laeda’s back, gently guiding her further away from the group of fighters, those that he now recognized as the same that were identified the night before. “Laeda, we no longer seek to rekindle rebellion. Instead, we seek to travel East, across the Rhine, to my homeland, to establish village and see these people, all of them, to long free lives. Dream of Rome ablaze was never held by Spartacus. His vision was that of a shadowed whisper of freedom given full voice in warm light of day. I intend to honor his legacy.”

“How can you intend to let Rome stand? They killed your brother, they slaughtered thousands of our own, they set you upon the cross and yet you would simply walk away with tail between legs? Where is the warrior who once made the very gods themselves quake with fear?” Laeda’s voice was hushed but pointed. She would not have dared to speak so brashly a year ago and yet now her voice was thick with venom. She needed Rome to experience the same pain she felt, she needed them all to feel what it was like to lose everything.

Agron grimaced at the mention of Duro but stood silently, giving Laeda her moment of speech. His eyes narrowed as she finished speaking, but he fought the urge to grab her arms and shake reason to her. He took a deep breath through gritted teeth and then spoke slowly and deliberately. “Rome will fall one day, but no time soon. A dream of Rome, crumbling in our clenched fists is nothing more than a jest born from Morphius and Hypnos. I have suffered more than most here under the shadow of Rome, but I willingly lay down arms to live the remainder of my days in freedom, beyond the grasp of Crassus and Caesar and the rest of those Roman shits. We will travel East of the Rhine. Those that do not care to join are free to fend for themselves alone. I will speak with your warriors about this and I am sure they, too, will find sense in plan. Dawn tomorrow, we begin our journey.” Agron, satisfied with his performance began to walk away, toward Nasir who had engaged Sibyl and the fighters in conversation, leaving Laeda standing alone, shaking with anger. He turned toward her as we walked, continuing backward slowly as he cast his arms out wide as if welcoming a hug from the air, but his eyes and voice conveyed a completely different intention. “And Laeda,” he called out to her, cocking his head to the side. Despite the calm of his voice as he spoke, the bitterness buried in Agron’s words was not easy to miss, “you will never mention Duro again.”

As Agron neared, Nasir threaded his arm behind his back, drawing the larger man into him. “What words were exchanged?”

“Laeda would have us turn toward Rome to satisfy thirst for revenge. She sought fit to use memory of beloved brother to further her cause. I do not hold lasting anger toward the woman but would have her from fucking site for a time. Come, let us turn attentions toward company of fighters. Do you hold knowledge of their names?” As Agron spoke, the tension he had been holding slowly left his body, his face losing the harsh grimace and returning to a jovial smile, his shoulders falling slightly. Nasir still wondered in awe at the changes his lover underwent in such short periods of time.

“I do. Come let introductions be made and plans divulged.” The two men returned to the group, both noticing that all eyes were focused on them, and that all stood in silence, waiting to hear from their leaders. “Agron, this” Nasir gestured softly toward the old man in the group “is Amelius. He hails from Greece originally, and served in their armies. He was captured and sold, fought as a gladiator in his youth and was eventually sold to a medicus where he learned the craft.” The Greek gave a slight bow, employing only his neck, allowing Agron to see the large section of bare scalp that had been partially hidden by the man’s stark white locks. When the man raised his head, Agron was struck by just how vividly green Amelius’s eyes looked, especially given his age. Agron supposed, however, that this could be due to the dark olive tan of the man’s skin. 

“This,” Nasir stated, gesturing toward two young boys “is Elianus and Fabius”. Both were bare chested, showing sparse patches of thin hair that had only began to grow in the past year. Neither boy had hair on his face, and even their legs seemed to only have recently sprouted hair. Despite their youth, Agron could not help but notice that the two boys both had imposing frames. Each was as tall as Agron and had wide shoulders, though their muscles had yet to truly catch up to their structure, Agron could tell that, given enough time, these two boys would be destructive beasts, and probably very attractive, if he was being honest with himself. “Gratitude for meeting with us, Agron, sir. It is truly an honor to fight at the side of such a legend.” Fabius, likely the younger one, spoke rapidly his excitement almost palpable. Elianus simply looked over at his counterpart, who might have been his brother, with exasperation. “Gratitude for your and your brother’s service.” Agron said, smiling widely, fond memories of Duro filling his head. “Oh, apologies, Agron, sir, but Elianus is not my brother, well not by blood. Our mothers were sisters, both body slaves under the same dominus. We were raised and nursed together, burdened with the collar of slavery since our birth.” Elianus nudged Fabius, at which point the first boy stopped speaking, and blushed, looking incredibly embarrassed. Agron suspected that these boys were, indeed, brothers, at least through their Roman shit of a father, they looked too similar to be merely cousins. Agron simply nodded, smiling again, and winking knowingly at Elianus. 

“And you are already familiar with Severina, and her son, young Libertus” Nasir practically cooed over the baby nestled in the woman’s arms. Agron’s heart warmed to see his lover so excited about a child. They obviously could not have children of their own, but they had spoken of perhaps caring for those orphaned by the war as their own. Agron had once brought up the possibility of laying with a woman, perhaps Sibyl or Laeda, to have a child. Nasir had not rejected the idea, but was not entirely fond of it either. As Agron’s attention returned to the blonde woman who had managed to give birth in the middle of a war and survive along with her child only to become one of the best fighters in their camp, he noticed that she had tears in her eyes.

“Speak mind. Why do tears glisten upon cheeks?” Agron’s voice, normally gruff, even when he is trying to be gentle, managed to sound soft and compassionate. Perhaps, he quickly thought, it was little Libertus that softened him beyond what he had thought possible.

“Apologies, it is nothing. I just” Severina paused, wiping the tears from her cheeks with one hand while pressing Libertus against her breast with the other. “I simply have no desire to lead charge against Rome. Libertus will die if he is orphaned. If you called us here to ask for assistance in restarting war, I cannot.” At this, Severina began to openly weep, shocking even herself. “Heart aches at thought of Spartacus and all those we have lost, dying in vain, but I cannot follow their path. I have to protect Libertus, and I cannot do that in coming days of war. I will not lose my baby to Rome, even if it is in the name of freedom.”

“Gratitude for your honesty, and apologies for tears shed unnecessarily. We do not march upon Rome.” At this, Agron could feel the nature of their gathering change. Fabius and Elianus straightened up, tensing what muscles they had. Sibyl audibly gasped, and Nasir beamed. Only the Greek, Amelius, remained unmoved, as if Agron had stated something as obvious and mundane as the fact that the sun rises and sets daily. “Instead, we head East, across the Rhine to my homelands. I may yet have family that could aid in creation of village beyond grasp of fucking Rome.”

“But what of the Roman conquests and persistent attacks toward the North?” This question came from Elianus. “Apologies, sir.” Elianus bit his lip, looking disappointed in himself for his outburst and loss of self-control. Agron clapped a large hand on the boy’s shoulder, so forcibly that the boy’s knees buckled slightly.

“No need for apologies, or for such formalities. You raise fair point. We shall travel as far East and North as possible, until reports of Roman expeditions are far behind us.” Agron tousled the boy’s hair before returning his hand to Nasir’s back. “Do plans find welcome home in present company?”

“By the gods, yes.” Sibyl nodded vigorously, looking incredibly relieved. Severina nodded fervently, tears continuing to fall, though the pain had left her face. Both of the boys nodded, but said nothing. Only the Greek remained silent. “What are your thoughts Amelius?”

“The shadow of Rome is vast. We will never truly be able to outrun its grasp. But, I find logic in this plan, given that alternative is almost certain death for all. You can count on my support.”

“Gratitude. We look to you four, in addition to ourselves, Sibyl and Laeda, to spread word of plan. We leave tomorrow at dawn. Tell any who do not desire to make the journey that they are welcome to remain behind, and will be given provision to help them upon their own path.” Nasir spoke firmly but with a softness that could always enchant Agron, or anyone for that matter. He was ready for the next phase of his life, for true freedom, for a life with Agron.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments are greatly appreciated. I am always looking to improve my writing and my story, and your input is invaluable in those endeavors. Gratitude.


	7. Hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is some hunting and some dialogue. Not super eventful, but more of a character exploration.

The group dispersed to begin spreading the news of the plan to establish a village East of the Rhine. Nasir and Agron hung back, the familiar pangs of hunger reminding them that it had been almost a day since they had last eaten. 

“Shall we hunt, or settle for simple meal of grain?” Nasir posed the question, positive of his lover’s response. Agron would certainly choose the hunt. It had been too long since they had spilt blood. Nasir knew that the melancholy life of a farmer would never truly bring joy to the larger man, but he had hoped that frequent hunts and excursions or competitions and adventures would sate the man’s palate for blood and danger. 

“Hunt. I would have fucking meat.” Agron grumbled his response, not out of anger, but rather laziness. “I would seek something other than fucking rabbits. These woods seem thick enough for deer or boar.” 

“Pause here a moment. I will fetch spear, bow, and arrows.” Nasir bounced on his toes a bit, in order to plant a soft kiss on Agron’s lips before returning to the tent. Agron was left standing alone, the sunlight warming his bare skin, the breeze gently lapping across his face. Never had he been able to appreciate the sensation of pure relaxation. Certainly there had been moments when Agron had appreciated the sun or the breeze, but usually he was coated in blood or sweat or had just orgasmed. This moment of isolation, of a paucity of stimuli other than those that he normally took for granted, was something new and uncomfortable but also wonderful. Agron allowed his eyes to close and his head to lilt back, feeling the sun on his face. He spread his arms as if to try to capture as much of the warmth from the sun as possible. Just as Agron’s mind began to clear, Nasir’s footfall interrupted the peace, snapping his attention back.

“Apologies. Intent was not to surprise…or interrupt.” Nasir raised an eyebrow, silently inquiring as to what exactly he was interrupting.

“None needed. Thoughts drifted away without cause.” Agron shook his head a bit to bring his attention back to the present, then grinned dopily. “Come, let us hunt.” Agron reached out collecting the wooden bow and arrows with his meaty hand. He slung the quiver over his bare shoulder, and gripped the bow in his left hand. The two began to stroll into the woods, silently. They could not speak to one another for fear of alerting the game to their presence, but simply being near each other was enough. Agron could almost feel the warmth radiating off of Nasir’s darkened skin, as the shadows of the trees danced along his lover’s body. Suddenly, before Agron had a chance to process what was happening, Nasir was bounding in front of him, his spear already flying from his hand. The familiar thudding sound of the spear penetrating flesh met Agron’s ears and he was able to quickly piece together the previous few moments. He had heard the sound of rustling leaves and cracking twigs, he had even smelled the scent of nearby animal, but had been too occupied with thoughts of his lover to put meaning to them. 

“Well fucking done, Nasir. We shall feast like the gods.” Agron saddled up behind Nasir who was bending over a large stag. Nasir grimaced a bit, as the stag’s legs twitched, as it struggled in vain to hold onto life. 

“Be at peace, friend. Thank you for what you will provide.” Nasir rested one hand on the stag’s face, leaning down to briefly kiss it’s neck, before pulling a blade across the same spot, ending the stag’s life and suffering. 

“It yet astounds how ending the life of a simple animal pains you, while in the battlefield you could slay thousands of men without second thought.”

“Choice, Agron. This beast had no choice in his death or really in his life. He was free and yet enslaved by nature. Men, free men at least, always have a choice, and often choose poorly. Every life I took in battle was that of a man who chose to fight for a nation of slavers and scoundrels. This stag stood for nothing more than nature’s beauty and bounty.”

“You are too fucking amazing, Nasir.” Agron knelt down, cupping Nasir’s chin in his hand, leaning forward to press a lingering kiss onto the Syrian’s lips. “You appear soft but just below the surface you are a warrior, one of the best, but deeper still lies a gentle soul. I love you, Nasir. I love all of you.”

“Agron, you, too, have many layers.”

“I think you try to create substance where there is none. I am a warrior, and that is all. I’ve told you, blood and metal are all I’ve ever known.”

“You appear as a warrior and are, without doubt, one of the best. But despite the speed with which you are possessed by anger, you too are gentle. May I pose question if promise to also answer it is made?”

“Anything.”

“At what point did you first know you held love for me?”

“Fuck the gods. Exact moment cannot be defined, but if I must…” Agron furrowed his brow, clearly searching through his memories of Nasir. “There are three moments that I think mark the beginning of my love for you. The first is when you defied Crixus, holding his fucking gaze after he assaulted your face. Any man who would have the courage to maintain gaze at that fucking shit is worthy of admiration. It would be a mistake if I were to fail to mention that your form also caught my attention during that moment. To wrap such ferocity in such beauty, I knew you would be mine. The next is when you told Crixus about Naevia and the mines. I would have killed you had you been another man, but again, anyone who would defy me, without apology, to do what is right, especially for love…” Agron trailed off, caught in the memory. “I believe you knew that you had my heart at that point, even before the fact was known to me. The clearest point, though, when I realized I loved you, was in your absence. In the moment when I saw Spartacus in the woods after you returned from the mines with Naevia, I realized that I would have given the world to see you alive at his side. When you left, I thought of nothing but your safety and your return. Despair threatened to overtake me because I knew you were all headed toward certain death. I dared not hope to see you again, and buried the notion of love with that hope. When I saw Spartacus, that hope and that love erupted, and I knew that if you had died and if you were not by his side, that I too would have died. But there you were, nearly on the shores of the afterlife, but clinging to life. I would gladly have laid down my life to save yours, to even save you from the pain of the wound. That, Nasir, is when I knew not only that I loved you, but that I could truly love.”

“Gratitude. Thank the gods for Crixus, else you might never have come to fucking sense. I, unlike you, am able to easily define one moment when my heart was given over to you. When you kissed me before heading to the arena to save Crixus. I knew that you were more than a brutish warrior who knew only of blood and metal. I felt the lover, the gentle soul inside of you, call out to me. It spoke louder than your own voice, thank the gods.” Nasir chuckled a bit, “Did you truly believe the words ‘you favor clever strategy, fuck the man from behind’ would win my affections?” Agron blushed, grinning widely. 

“You would be surprised at the number of times those words had won me affections in the past.”

“I would be surprised if you had occasion to utter them prior to that moment.” Nasir smiled, leaning in and kissing Agron again. “Come, let us return and eat. We have more to discuss, but I would see bellies filled before conversation continues.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave feedback! I love any opportunity to better my writing.


	8. Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Some new characters will be coming into the mix.

The sun was beginning to set, casting a pinkish hue over the forest where the clutch of former slaves camped. Smoke from the fire, over which Agron and Nasir cooked the meat from the stag, billowed upward as a beacon to the gods. All had been relatively peaceful since the morning’s hunt. Agron and Nasir returned to news, carried on lips of Severina, Elianus, and Fabius, of a warm response to the plan to settle East of the Rhine. Laeda and Sybil had been absent since the meeting in the morning, something that did not surprise Agron, given the wounds he inflicted to Laeda’s pride. He ought to deliver balming words upon their next encounter, which given that their tents were located next to one another, should be sooner, rather than later. The thought had barely completed itself when Laeda and Sibyl appeared, neither speaking, but both practically buzzing with energy.

“Sibyl, Laeda, what news do you carry?” Nasir was the first to speak, rising to his feet, worried that Agron would still harbor ill will from the morning’s conversation. 

Laeda was the first to respond, looking only at Nasir. “We come carrying more than news. We are both with child.” Agron choked on air and began sputtering, a look of confusion washing over his face. Nasir’s mouth opened silently before the news fully registered with him, at which point he rushed toward the two women and embraced them both in a tight hug. Suddenly, he released them looking terrified.

“Why does fear rest upon your face?” Sibyl asked, almost hurt by the look she was receiving from Nasir.

“Apologies. I realized that force of embrace might harm the child…err…children. I would not see life cut short by my over eager hands.”

“Nasir, do not be ridiculous. They are with child, not made of glass.” Agron had finally managed to regain control of his body. He rose to his feet, striding away from the fire and toward the women and Nasir. “So tell me, how do you know? How long have you known?”

“We were unsure before today. In fact, we did not know that the other was visited by same question. After meeting with Amelius and the others, I sought his council because I had been absent my womanly flow. I thought it might simply be delayed in arrival, given strain of battles, but Amelius confirmed that instead it is sign that I have been blessed with a child. When I told Sibyl of the news she said that she too had similar signs. Again, we visited Amelius, and he confirmed that she was also with child.” Laeda’s face was flush with excitement. She had barely paused to breathe while speaking. 

“Is the man some fucking oracle? Why do you give his words such credence? You do not appear as if you are with child.” Agron’s words were harsh, but tone was warm, at least for Agron.

“Agron! Have you forgotten already that he trained under medicus? He is expert in these things. Do not cast shadow on joyous occasion. Tonight we celebrate.” Nasir was practically overflowing with excitement. He had already begun to rub both of the women’s bellies, despite the lack of any noticeable increase in their size.

“Apologies for harsh words. I have further question, though. Who are the fathers?” Agron’s voice was hopeful. Although he did not allow himself to expect the best, he certainly hoped for it.

“Neither Sibyl nor I have taken anyone to bed since Spartacus and Gannicus. These children are theirs. They carry their blood and legends.” Laeda spoke pointedly but with a warm smile. “We will have more of the men we loved than simple memories and faded glory. We will have their children, their reflections.”

“Fuck the gods! Words lift spirit and heart. But we must be careful. If Rome were to discover that the children of Gannicus and Spartacus live inside you, they would send legions to prevent their birth. For the moment, tell no one of your state, and bid Amelius to do the same. I swear by all of the gods, and on the graves Duro and of my fallen brothers, that I will do everything in my power to protect you both and your children. I have longed for purpose, and though Nasir has given me life and set me upon path, journey’s destination remained unknown until now.”

“And I shall do the same. These children are hope. Crassus, Pompey, Caesar, and the rest of Rome believed they extinguished the flame of freedom with the death of Spartacus, but blaze that strong can never truly be quelled. I admit that I long for peace, and intend to live the remainder of my days in loving arms far from the reach of Rome, but I commit the rest of those days to preparing your children for their great destinies and protecting them from what harm may seek them.” Nasir stood passionately, a fire burning in his eyes that Agron had not seen since the final battle with Crassus.

“Come. Let us eat. We must finish plans about journey to Germania. There is more need for speedy travel than ever before. The journey to the Rhine should only take two days and the journey to a place of refuge only two weeks more. Before I was captured, my family spoke of place in the North where our ancestors had lived. Protected by mountains and nourished by streams and singular wide valley. This land is our destination, and if any I once held dear still live, they too would have embarked on journey to this land. Few in Germania understand Roman tongue, but the native tongue is not terribly hard to grasp, is it Nasir?”

“I would hesitate to agree. But I admit that your native tongue certainly graces my lips much more easily than mine on yours.”

“I do not fucking understand how anyone speaks your native tongue. But all tongues sound beautiful when given voice by you.”

“Beautiful sentiments, but let us begin eating and planning. I would see us to safety as quickly as possible.” Laeda grew gradually more serious as she continued speaking. “And, gratitude for your oaths. I am at ease knowing that these children have you both as sworn guardians.”

The four warriors moved toward the fire and the roasted stag. Agron retrieved a knife he had left resting on a stone by the fire and began to cut large slices of the meat for each person. The juices trickled down the meat into the fire, sizzling upon landing and sending wafts of thick scent into the air. As friends, with renewed purpose, Nasir, Sibyl, Agron, and Laeda ate, talked, and laughed until only embers remained below the well-roasted carcass of the stag. As they returned to their tents that evening, high with anticipation of the journey the next morning and excitement about new life, of their lost friends and lovers being reborn in their children, memories of the horrors they had all seen were happily kept at bay. The reprieve from terror, anger, and sadness was welcomed by all as they each entered into the deepest sleep any of them had been granted since long before the final battle with Crassus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, gratitude for reading. Any and all feedback is appreciated. I'm constantly seeking to improve and your feedback (both positive and negative) will help.


	9. The Rhine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're almost home, but something stands in their way. Agron reflects on his youth. Not beta'd.

“Fuck the gods, and fuck this river.” Agron stood, naked and dripping wet, his soaked clothes piled on the ground next to him. He stared angrily at the rushing water, beginning to shiver as Nasir stepped forward gingerly, attempting to stifle a laugh. The Syrian carried a warm fur to dry his lover, wrapping it tightly around the larger man. The two days of journeying through woods to get to the Rhine where there was supposed to be a bridge leading into Germania had been relatively uneventful. Agron had spent much of his time cooing over the pregnant women and then silently being chastised by Nasir, who despite his initial excitement, had done a phenomenal job of keeping the secret. Agron, on the other hand, despite all of his blustering about silence being their security, could not help himself from just staring at the bellies of Sybil and Laeda, often times reaching out as if to touch them. When the band of survivors had reached the Rhine, Agron’s thoughts plummeted from the clouds of dreams about the sons of his brothers, along with his mood. The bridge had been burnt to the ground, and there was no other real way across into Germania for at least another week or two’s journey, time they could not afford as winter started to approach. Agron had decided to test the depths and current of the Rhine to see if it still offered as much resistance as it did to him in memories of childhood.

“Are all from your lands this inept at swimming?” Nasir teased his lover, but a wide devilish grin betrayed his love and warm intentions. “I only jest. You gave valiant effort and I’m sure even Neptune himself could not cross these waters. I only wonder now how we can spirit ourselves across?” Agron didn’t provide a response, just frowned and shivered into the warm fur and embrace of his lover. 

Agron’s mind wandered away from his freezing body and back to the last time he had set foot in the Rhine. He was a young child, maybe 12 years of age. He had gone down to the river, which was not far from the village where he lived with his parents and Duro. They had always been warned that the Rhine was unpredictable, fast, and dangerous. Grown men even spoke with fear or at least healthy respect when the subject of swimming in the river came up. But, as all young boys must do, Agron had become determined to prove his manliness by swimming across the river and back. Secretly, Agron had gathered a group of children from the village to witness his bravery. Obviously, Duro, only 9 at the time, followed closely, never leaving Agron’s heals. The band of children had slipped away from the village one lazy afternoon in the middle of summer. Agron knew that this, if any time, would be the best to brave the waters. The Rhine would no longer be brimming with the snow melt from the winter or from the Spring rains. The water would not be as cold as it would the rest of the year. The group reached the river and Agron was pleased to see that he was right, the river was lower and slower than it had been even a few weeks prior. All of the children stripped off their clothes and ran to the banks, dipping their legs in, playing in the shallowest areas or pools of water trapped by rocks. Agron refused to join them. He stayed on the bank, motionless, plotting and rehearsing in his head exactly what he was going to do: where he would take off, how many strokes before he took his first breath, how many strokes it should take before he reached the other bank, how long he would rest on the other bank before he returned, and how he would be praised as a man and champion by his peers upon his return.

After a few moments, Agron had steeled himself, stripped off his clothes and ran toward the river. The other children hooted and hollered, clapping and cheering the young boy on. As Agorn reached the water, his feet beginning to splash, he leapt into the air, diving into the cold water. Immediately, his body screamed and tightened, angered by the cold, but Agron pressed forward. Kick, kick, kick, kick, stroke…stroke…stroke, breathe. That first breath of air that entered Agron’s lungs felt like a gift from the gods. Everything was going perfectly, and his body had begun to adjust to the cold water, his muscles beginning to relax as he kicked and stroked. Within minutes he had reached the embankment on the other side, nearly out of sight from the other children. He swam ashore, panting, soaking wet, partly from the river water, and partly from the sweat that poured from his skin. Agron stood triumphantly, throwing his fists in the air, roaring from the deepest part of his belly. He could see the other kids jumping and clapping, hear their cheers. He took a moment to just revel in his glory before he laid down on the sand, allowing his breath the return to him. 

He had barely begun to dry than did the cheers of the children begin echoing over the river again. That could not be right? Agron was doing nothing other than lying down. He stood, expecting the group to continue to applaud, motioning for him to return, but instead what he saw struck panic into his heart. A tiny silhouette leaped into the air from the shores of the Rhine and began splashing in the river. He didn’t have to think to know that this was Duro. His fucking baby brother was always tailing him, crying if Agron was out of sight. The younger boy was also headstrong enough to imagine himself able to cross the Rhine. Agron fought the urge to jump immediately into the water, knowing that if any nine-year-old could swim across the river, it would be his brother. He watched, silently praying to the gods he was no longer sure if he believed in, as his brother’s splashes neared the middle of the river. Duro was doing alright, it was looking like he was going to make it across. The small boy had crossed the midpoint of the river and was on his way toward the embankment where Agron stood poised to pull the idiot child out of the water, when suddenly the splashes stopped. Agron did not hesitate, he knew that if Duro had stopped swimming the river would claim his life. Exhausted, but hyped up on nerves, Agron dove into the water, swimming for the spot just downstream of where he had last seen the splashes of Duro’s nearly successful attempt to cross the Rhine. He didn’t notice the shocking cold of the river, nor the ache in his muscles. It seemed like a lifetime and only the blink of an eye, all at once, before he reached the spot, frantically treading water, searching for his brother’s body. Agron’s head twisted in each direction, his legs beginning to tire, feeling as though they were made of lead, when finally, he caught sight of Duro floating, face down, maybe a stone’s throw down stream. Agron swore and willed energy into his lifeless legs, tears beginning to stream down his face as terror began to grip his heart. No. Fuck the gods, Agron was better than this. He cursed himself, pushing his terror down and swimming faster, gaining control of his muscles. Within moments, Duro’s motionless body was within Agron’s grasp. Agron pulled him in tightly, swimming with only one hand and his tired legs to the nearest bank. 

When they reached the sands, Agron pulled Duro out of the water, flipping him onto his back. The boy was not breathing, a faint blue hue coming over his face, his eyes closed and peaceful. He looked like the corpses Agron had seen being hoisted onto the pyres during the village ceremonies. Now, the terror returned, gripping Agron’s heart like an icy fist, sending stabbing pains through his chest. The tears sprang from his eyes as he cried out. “Duro! Duro! Fuck, please Duro, do not be dead. Duro!” Partially out of anger and fear, Agron began to beat Duro’s chest with his fists, as if trying to hammer the life into him. The boy’s cold body seemed to breathe out as Agron’s fists made contact. Somehow, through the haze of fear, the notion to breathe new air into his brother sprang to mind. Agron bent forward, covering Duro’s mouth and nose with his own mouth, exhaling air into the body. Suddenly, as if Agron’s breath had startled Duro from a deep slumber, the boy sat up, coughing river water out of his mouth, spittle and snot dribbling down his face. Duro gasped for air, the normal pink tones of his skin returning to his face. There were too many emotions inside Agron for him to do even move or say anything. Surprise, relief, anger, fear, guilt, elation, all of them swirling inside Agron as he sat dumbfounded watching his kid brother return from the shores of the underworld.

“I made it?”

“What?”

“I made it across the river! I am a man, just like you!”

“You fucking idiot! You nearly drowned. You were dead!” Agron’s temper was rising, the joy of having his brother safe and the fear of being forced to watch him die were both being overshadowed by the white-hot anger only Duro could elicit. “Do not fucking grin! You are a fucking child that would have drowned in the fucking Rhine if I had not saved you. No, you did not fucking make it across river.” Agron’s shouted words were only partially understandable, given that he now shook with cold and anger, as tears continued to stream down his face.

“Apologies, but am I not on other fucking side?” Duro smiled, only half-aware of his snarkiness. The boy genuinely just wanted Agron to be proud of him for crossing the river, one way or another. Instead, he received a hard punch to the face followed by Agron leaping on top of him, knocking them both to the ground. Despite his anger, Agron did not continue to punch his brother, merely to restrain him. Soon their anger and fear subsided and the two boys were wrestling and laughing as the sun began to set, their friends undoubtedly having departed long ago. 

“It is fucking time to head back, is it not?”

“Mom and dad are going to kill you, Aggy.”

“Me?! Why? You’re the one who tried to drink the Rhine dry.”

“You let me. And, you lost our clothes. And, it is your fault that we return after dark.” Agron gently shoved Duro as they began their walk, still naked, but thankfully dry, along the road toward the bridge that would take them over the Rhine back toward their village. Duro had been right. Agron received a lashing for being mindless enough to lose their clothes and for causing them to be late home. Fortunately, no one had told their parents about the incident in the river. 

Agron’s mind returned to the present, as a smile spread across his face. It had been a long time since he had allowed himself to think of his childhood with Duro. As they neared their homelands, it was as if Duro was returning to him, in some sense. 

“What brings smile to face?”

“A memory of days long past in this river. Of brother attempting to follow where he should not. And, of a plan. If we cannot swim across, and we cannot walk across, we shall create fucking rafts. There are enough trees and able bodied people to make suitably sized raft before dusk. I will guide us across, making journey as many times as necessary to see all to the shores of Germania. Nasir, we are almost home. I can feel it. Something stirs within me, longing to awaken, or re-awaken.”

“Then let us set hands to purpose. I would see memories and future both alive and well within the heart of my love.” Agron finished drying, wrapping the fur around himself, letting his clothes dry on the shores of the Rhine. They returned to the camp at the top of the bank, gathering aid and setting plan into action. As they had predicted, there was a large raft ready for launch into the Rhine prepared by the time the last beam of light left the sky. Tomorrow morning, they would cross the Rhine, into Germania, toward home and safety. Agron could not be more please.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! As always, comments and feedback are welcome, encouraged, and appreciated. I'm always trying to improve my writing and story so any input is great! Gratitude.


	10. Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here we go. Things are picking up, now that Agron and Nasir have a new purpose and a stronger relationship foundation. Per usual, not beta'd.

“What the fuck was that?” Agron awoke from a deep slumber, Nasir wrapped tightly in his arms. Nasir, too, had been awoken by the thunderous sound that shook the very earth below him. The thick, sweet scent of smoke was heavy in the air. Agron stood, leaving their tent to examine what was going on. Laeta and Sybil emerged from their tent as well. 

“Hurry, find Elianus and Fabius I fear the worst and would have the two boys at my side. When task is complete, see to the rest of the camp. Prepare to move quickly. Wake all who remain in slumber. We may have to fight or flee.” The two women rushed off into the darkness, their eyes beginning to water because of the ever thickening smoke. 

“Nasir!” Agron called, panic and excitement beginning to rise in his voice. He had begun to think that he would never see battle again. He had felt himself beginning to soften into a new man, one with whom he was not familiar. Now that battle was again potentially upon the horizon, he felt the familiar rush through his veins. Agron’s heart began to pound, his limbs pulsing with energy. But regardless of how ready to fight he was, Agron needed his lover by his side.

Nasir emerged from the tent, carrying his spear and the trident that Agron had grown accustomed to wielding. Tossing the trident to Agron, Nasir scanned the scene for any clues as to what might be going on. “Have you any knowledge of what is happening?”

“None. There clearly seems to be a fire nearby but I wait for Elianus and Fabius in order to explore. I fear that Rome and Crassus may have found us.”

“What evidence do you have to suggest that this is Rome?”

“None, save for a feeling. The night before my brother and I were captured, similar events took place. They may not be here for us, but my heart holds no doubt that Rome is upon us.” Agron looked gravely at the shorter man. They gripped one another by the forearm, Agron lowering his forehead to press it against Nasir’s as they steeled themselves for what was to come. They did not break apart until the hurried footsteps of the young boys broke the silence. The air had become so thick with smoke that they could not breathe without needing to cough, forcing the four men to cover their noses and mouths with pieces of cloth. 

“Come! To the river, noise and fire come from there.” The four men ran through the forest, Elianus and Fabius stumbling over vines and roots, while Agron and Nasir traveled expertly. Within moments they had arrived at the shores of the river. Abruptly, they all stopped, forced to stare at the grizzly sight in front of them. Flames roared on the other side of the river, the trees all ablaze in light. The heat from the fire assaulted their faces, forcing them all to squint to see through the even thicker smoke. But even through the smoke they could see figures running toward the river, splashing in. There was no doubt in any of their minds that those were people, many of whom were on fire.

“What could have done this?” Nasir choked out the words.

“It matters not. Those people across the river. We must lend aid if possible. Come let us fetch the raft.” Agron spoke with purpose through gritted teeth. It appeared as if the smoke was not affecting him. If anything, Agron seemed more alive now than he had in weeks. He was practically glowing, the fire across the river was formidable, but the fire within Agron seemed to capture the glow of the sun itself. Nasir could not help but beam, despite the horrible circumstances around them. The man standing in front of him was not the same man he fell in love with, nor the same man that had returned to him from the cross, nor even the same man he went to bed with earlier that night. The man before him reminded Nasir of Spartacus, the icy calm just before battle that only barely managed to contain the fire raging inside. Nasir could not believe that he had doubted his lover’s ability to lead their people in the wake of Spartacus. He realized that all it took was the prospect of a peaceful life of love, raising the children of his brothers, and then that potentially being ripped away.

“Wait. There, down the river. A ship. They could lend aid.” Elianus spoke with excitement, gesturing down the river toward a dark silhouette on the river.

“Give pause. They might yet lend aid of their own accord.” Agron reached out and laid his hand upon the young boy’s shoulder, looking onward toward the ship. They waited a few long moments, bodies frozen with anticipation but humming with excitement. The cries of the people across the river as they hurled themselves into the river cause each of the men to clench their jaws and fists. Suddenly, amidst the cries of the people, the cracking of the trees on fire, the roar of the wind, the unmistakable whoosh of a catapult rang through the air. Through the smoke, a glowing orb flew from the ship in the distance and arced through the night, over the river and into the trees on the same side of the river the men were standing upon.

“Fucking Romans.” Agron let out an enraged roar. “Nasir, Fabius, get to the camp. Warn everyone. We must move, and quickly. Get everyone into the river. We will move North and attempt to cross another day. Elianus, come with me. We will fetch raft and attempt to take the ship.”   
“Agron, have you lost fucking mind? You and the boy cannot possibly take a Roman ship by yourselves. I have not come this far to lose you because you think your cock is bigger than Jupiter’s.”

Agron strode up to the shorter man and clasped the back of his head, pulling him closer, grinning. “Nasir. Have faith. I have returned to you from the dead and plan to do so again. Now go. And protect Laeta and Sibyl above all else.” Agron leaned forward planting a swift kiss on his lover’s dark lips, pulling him into an embrace. “Go.”

Nasir and Fabius took off into the woods running back toward the camp, while Agron and Elianus ran further down the bank to where the raft had been tied to a set of trees. “Elianus, you will stay on the raft while I take the ship. If I cannot kill them all, I will jump into the river and swim to the raft. Be ready to take off.”

“Sir, you intend to take a ship of Romans by yourself? With only that trident?”

“That is exactly what I intend to do.”

“Apologies, but maybe Nasir was correct in stating that you have indeed lost fucking mind.” Agron grinned as they finished untying the raft and hoisted it, walking toward the river. “Elianus, you must know that one cannot fucking lose what one did not have.” The large man chuckled hardily as they set the raft down onto the water and climbed on. There was no real need to steer or push given that the current carried them directly toward the ship, which was already launching another ball of fire into the woods.

“Do you believe that they search for us?”

“I do not know, Elianus. I doubt it. Romans seek to burn the world, to build their cities on the ashes. This could simply be the beginning of a battle between Rome and a local tribe. But, there is always the chance that they could have discovered us and this really is our welcoming party.” As they reached the ship Agron stuck the butt of his trident out, easing their way down the side of the ship, searching for a way up onto the deck. The cold waves of the Rhine sloshed up onto the wood of their raft as the two vessels eased past one another, the Roman ship dwarfing the tiny raft. Within moments, Agron found what he was searching for, a mooring line that was left to hang over the side of the ship. It was moments like this he wished that he could still wield a sword, since a trident was much more difficult to sheathe. Agron reached out and twisted the rope around his right forearm, passing it through his hand, gripping his trident in his left. 

“Jupiter’s cock this is going to be awful.” Agron laid back, letting all of his weight pull into the rope, his massive shoulder beginning to strain, the course fibers of the rope cutting into his skin. Agron pulled tightly and hoisted himself as he pulled his feet into the air, letting them come slamming against the hull of the ship. He now hung, arm extended into the air, almost as if he were sitting facing the stars. The tension in his shoulder was all too familiar, bringing back the memory of hanging on the cross. At least he was in control this time. One foot in front of the other, Agron worked his way up the side of the ship, using his trident to counterbalance the rope, allowing him to reach further up the rope and continue his progress. By the time he reached the side of the ship, his entire body was screaming in agony, his forearm had been rubbed raw and his legs shook with exertion. His shoulder, most of all, felt as if it were being weighed down by lead. Fortunately, the ship was not one of the large slaver ships, but rather a smaller river vessel, with walls only about two or three times his own height. Had the ship been much larger, Agron was convinced he would not have made it. 

Upon his arrival on the deck, Agron saw that there were shockingly few men aboard. Only enough, it seemed, to man the catapult and steer the ship. The rest must have gone ashore. Agron was unsure how it was possible, maybe because of the thick smoke or maybe because of the cries of those burning on the shores of the river, but somehow his ascension and eventual toppling over the side of the ship went unnoticed by the Romans. Agron did not have time to regain strength nor breath, nor would he have been able to if time were ample, given that the air singed his lungs as he inhaled. This needed to end, and quickly.

Surprising himself, Agron kept quiet and managed to stab a Roman emerging from a nearby door with further ammunition for the catapult before the Roman could sound the alarm. The feeling of his pike puncturing the soft skin of the Roman’s throat as the man crumpled to the ground, bloody and lifeless reinvigorated Agron, sending energy through his body, further igniting his passion. Fuck strategy. He let out a battle cry, surprising all of the Romans aboard the ship, and charged, trident lowered. Stabbing and slashing ensued. Agron dropped the three men next to the catapult with ease. They had barely drawn their swords before he had ended their lives. The remaining men aboard the ship managed to encircle him, however, swords drawn. 

“Prepare to fucking die Roman shits.” Agron smiled, exhilarated by the challenge. Wielding his trident as if he were born with it in his hand, he managed to kill them all. The clash of metal rang through the air, rising above the cries of the Romans on the ship and the Germans on the shores of the Rhine. Only once did one of the Romans manage to land a blow, cutting into Agron’s back, a minor wound he barely noticed at the time, but one that would certainly cause Nasir to fuss upon seeing it. 

“Fuck the gods, that worked. My cock must truly be bigger than Jupiter’s.” Agron laughed and shouted to himself, panting, bleeding and sweating. He pounded his fist against his chest in celebration. After gathering himself, Agron ran to the side of the ship and called down for Elianus. The boy responded, but had been carried down river a bit by the current. Agron was no sailor and could not turn the boat around to retrieve the boy. Instead, he tossed a line into the water, encouraging Elianus to grab it and to join him on the ship. After a few attempts of throwing the line and even more effort put toward hoisting the boy aboard, both Agron and Elianus were aboard the ship. 

“Tell me you have fucking idea as to how to move this thing.”

“I was born a slave, Agron. Of course I do not have fucking idea. But come, I am sure we could reason it. If Roman shits can do it, how difficult can it be?”  
***  
Meanwhile, Nasir and Fabius bolted through the dark trees, coughing and sputtering as their lungs choked for clean air. The camp was only a few minutes away and Nasir was certain that everyone would already be prepared to move on. By the time they reached the camp, however, Nasir was horrified to find many of the tents ablaze. People were scattering from the camp into the woods, only to be cut down by Roman soldiers who encircled the small clearing where the tents had been pitched. 

“Hurry. Find Sibyl and Laeta. We need to return to Agron. There are too many Romans here to fight.” Nasir hissed out his orders to Fabius, clutching his spear. The two grasped forearms and then bolted off into the night. Nasir had barely made it twenty steps before he heard the cries of a baby. Libertus! Spurred on by the cries, the Syrian hurried toward the sound. A few Romans made attempt to stop him, but each fell easily to Nasir’s spear. Moments later, Nasir was kneeling on the ground at the bloodied body of Severina. Her spirit was clearly on the shores of the afterlife. Still clutched in her arms, however, was her tiny baby Libertus. The young boy’s cries pierced through the night, above the cracking of the fires and moaning of the trees, even above the screams of the people around him. Nasir scooped the boy into his arms and turned to flee the slaughter. As he ran, Libertus clutched under one arm, his spear gripped in his other, Nasir called for Fabius, for Laeta and Sibyl, for Amelius. Despite who his voice called for, Nasir’s heart and mind remained focused only on Agron. He HAD to see him again. He had to survive his obscene plan to take over a ship. They had to be reunited to escape to freedom in Germania.

Nasir’s heart was pounding and his lungs were on fire. He had made it back into the woods where on the way back to where they left Agron. Pause a moment, Nasir, he thought to himself. Give Fabius a chance to survive. He needs you. Laeta and Sibyl need you. Nasir crouched in the shadows of the trees, trying to coax Libertus into silence, gently rocking him as much as he could, even allowing him to suckle on part of his armor. Nasir’s well-trained eyes continued to scan the clearing as he counted in his head. Waiting. As the numbers rose, so did Nasir’s anxiety. 

His patience was rewarded. Soon, figures of the two women, the old man and the boy burst through the smoke. Their battle cries echoing through the air. From what Nasir could see, there were no Romans. They had made it. Shortly, they were all running down to the river, only to see the Roman ship sailing directly toward them. This was the end. Nasir knew that if they were flanked by the Romans on the ship and the Romans from the clearing, they would not survive. Not that it mattered, since the fact that the ship still moved meant that his heart had perished. Soon they would be reunited in the afterlife, free from the hardship of the world. Free to rejoin their brothers. The band of unlikely warriors prepared to fight for their lives, as the ship moved toward them. Something seemed odd, though. 

Nasir was not incredibly familiar with ships, but we was pretty sure that this one moved as if the captain was drunk. It jerked from side to side, the sails never quite catching the wind. In fact, it was a miracle or the effect of sheer will power on the part of the captain that the ship moved at all. The only person who was stubborn enough to move a ship without catching the wind was Agron. He had to be alive. Had he actually commandeered the ship rather than burning it? Nasir let his heart rise, allowing himself the hope that his lover was still alive. The ship was so close now that it seemed as if it was going to slam directly into them. The group on the beach, backed up warily, watching the drunken ship. A voice called down from the deck, “Hey little man, how do you stop this?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I hope you enjoyed. Thank you so much for reading! Please leave any comments, suggestions, or feedback. I'm perpetually trying to improve.


	11. Almost Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agron and crew head to their new home!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I am so sorry for the delay in uploading and for the brevity of this chapter. Life has been hectic and I have not had as much time to write as I would have liked. Despite the chapter title, we are not quite close to the end, there is still like 2 major arcs I want to get through before we end this bad boy. Thanks so much for sticking with me. Again, sorry for the transitional chapter.

Nasir’s eyes fluttered open, the soft breeze ruffling his hair as the warm rays of the sun soothed his body from sleep. Had it all been a dream? The fire, the camp, the ship? He shifted, noticing the lack of a large warm body next to his. Where was Agron? As Nasir’s vision returned fully, he realized that he was on the deck of the ship. So it had not been a dream. The sound of waves lapping at the sides of the ship confirmed what his mind already knew, they were sailing. Nasir pushed himself to his feet, stretching as he did so, his arms reaching for the heavens. He craned his neck, getting a view of the world around him. Fabius and Elianus slept next to him, cuddled up next to one another. Nearby, Laeda and Sibyl slept, the former clutching Libertus to her breast. As Nasir’s gaze shifted toward the front of the ship, he saw the large figure of his lover, standing proudly behind the wheel, and the hunched shadow of Amelius next to him. Agron’s body shook, and the deep boom of his laugh tickled Nasir’s ears. The Syrian padded gently across the deck of the rocking ship, trying to maintain his balance. When at last he had reached Agron, he slithered his arms around Agron’s waist, encircling him, burying his face deep into the man’s back. Nasir inhaled deeply and was hit with the sweet scent of smoke, the spiced smell of sweat, and the metallic smell of blood. That smell would always be uniquely Agron’s. Nasir grinned and began to nuzzle his face against Agron’s back. The larger man simply let him do so, without really acknowledging his presence, other than clasping Nasir’s hands in his own meaty left palm.

“Amelius and I shared words on course of action. He gave voice to troubling news that you are all that survived from camp?”

“He speaks the truth. I had gone back, but the Romans had the camp circled. There was no way, even if there had not been the fires…” Nasir’s voice trailed off. He had seen many die before, on battle fields, in the thick of the rebellion, but he had never felt so personally responsible. The guilt gripped his heart like a vice, weighing him down like a stone chained around his neck. Only the warm touch of a thumb and forefinger clasping his chin, raising his eyes upward broke his thoughts.

“You did all you could. Come, we also spoke of happier news. We have sailed all night while you slept and are nearing a river port town. It was one known for good beer and kind folk, at least when I was child. I hope that is still the case.”

“Is that why you laughed earlier? Certainly it was not the thought of our dead comrades that brought such sound from your lips. Was it memory of old or vision of future?”

“Neither. I was simply explaining ale to our friend Amelius, here. It seems as if in his many years he has not tasted such drink.”  
“Nor have I. Why, would it bring laughter forth?”

“Because Amelius does not believe that drink made from grains and barley could possibly be palatable.”

“Grains and barley? You drink liquid bread?”

“That is what Amelius said. It is certainly a taste needing to be acquired, but have faith. You will, given that Roman wine is not likely to be plentiful here.” Agron paused a moment looking in the distance. The river seemed to widen even more, and off of the starboard side there was what looked like a small port. “Finally. Port for our new home appears. It might not be much, but it should do.”

“Agron, you intend to remain in that town? The port is not even a tenth of the size of that of Neopolis. It looks like no more than three ships can dock. Also, is it wise to remain so close to river with a stolen Roman ship?”

“Size is not only matter of importance, Nasir. This town thrives on waters of the Rhine. It may only dock three ships at once, but there is never time when its ports are empty.”

“And the ship?”

“A plan has yet to form. Burning it seems wasteful, but we cannot dock without causing fear, and as you said, we cannot leave it. Sell it, perhaps?”

“Wise decision.” Amelius finally spoke, startling Nasir who had begun to forget that the old man was there with them. “As for docking in a Roman ship, I am sure that we will not be mistaken for Romans.”

“How can you be sure, old man?”

“Do your eyes rest upon a different site than mine? Where are Roman uniforms? Roman flags? We have but two boys, two women, an old man, and two men who are very clearly not of Roman descent.”

“You have not met many Germans have you, old man? We are not trustful bunch. Fight first then…well, no…no questions…just fighting.” 

“Then it sounds like it matters not whether we are Roman, we are for a fight regardless. Dock the ship, Agron.”

The three men continued to discuss the evening before and the days to come as the ship neared the port. When at last it came time to dock the ship, Nasir was filled with worry and pity for Agron. But much to his surprise, Agron was not flustered nor did he appear to be confused. Nasir ogled his lover as the larger man spun the wheel of the ship with much more grace than he had the night before. The ship gracefully turned and slid smoothly into the port. Men had gathered on the dock below armed and ready to attack. They did not all look like Agron, which is what Nasir had expected. Silly, he thought. He knew plenty of Germans, Saxa, Donar, Lugo. But, for some reason, he expected that when they reached Agron’s homeland, they would all seem like his close kin. Instead, many of them were fair of skin and hair like Saxa, or even more like Chadara. The one thing they all had in common with Agron, though, was their size. All of them were giants of men. Their chests and shoulders large and imposing. Their thighs as thick as tree trucks, and their arms not much smaller. Nasir felt a flutter in his stomach, he could certainly call this place home if this is what all of its inhabitants looked like.

As the men neared the ship, Agron began speaking in German, more quickly than he ever had with Nasir. Even still, Nasir was able to catch a few words here and there. “Home” “Fire” “Ship” “Fucking Romans.” Whatever Agron said seemed to calm the men, and in fact, they not only lowered their weapons but worked to help tie the ship to the dock and embraced Agron as he stepped ashore. They men began talking more and Nasir heard Agron introduce himself and the others aboard the ship. His smile at hearing his own name coupled with “love” faded to confusion rapidly when the men began whispering with Agron. What could they be talking about that they would need to whisper. What was more confusing was that Nasir could have sworn that the one of the men said “your brother Duro” which would not make sense given that Agron had not mentioned his brother. Could these men know his family? Agron suddenly stood up straight, breaking Nasir’s trail of thoughts, only to plunge him back into confusion since Agron had lost all color from his face and began to sweat. What could be happening now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! I appreciate all feedback/comments/suggestions since I am constantly trying to improve.


	12. Ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ghosts from Agron's past suddenly appear and things get kind of rocky because of it. No beta, enjoy!

“Nasir, I need your word that you will love me despite my past.” Agron had hurried over to Nasir as soon as the men retreated off of the dock, presumably to wait for Agron to gather his “crew.” Despite his massive frame, Agron looked particularly boyish in this moment. His eyes had a look of worry about them, as when a child misbehaves and fears the lashing from the parents.

“Have I ever given reason to doubt the truth behind such statement?” Nasir was still confused as to what happened to make Agron concerned. What had these men said?

“Nasir. Your word.”

“Of course. I swear upon all of the gods that ever were and ever will be that I will love you not only despite your past, but because of it. Now give voice to fucking story.” Nasir’s temper began to rise, an odd experience for the Syrian, but one that had become increasingly common since his relationship with Agron began. They truly did complement one another.

“These men know my family. In fact, my family lives here in this very village. I had never allowed hope of laying eyes upon them once again to blossom or take root in my heart.”

“But you had said that your parents bore only you and Duro, and that your father died in the battle when the Romans took you and your mother died when you were but a child.”

“You give voice to truth, but there yet remains a part of my past I had not shared. I was once married.”

“To a woman?”

“Yes, to a woman. Her name was, or, rather…is Klara. We were married at a young age, I had barely sprouted hair on my face. Our families were held each other as close friends as did we.”

Nasir felt himself begin to shake. The confusion and anger and hurt he felt began to bubble up. His heart started to race as his jaw clenched. Why had Agron not shared this with him? Why had he married a woman? Was Nasir simply a warm body until Agron could find another woman?

“Did you…Did you love her?”

“Of course I did. But, Nasir, that means nothing. I love you. It matters not that she lives, I have found a deeper, truer love in you than I ever found with her.”

“But she is your wife. Spartacus nearly burned Rome for his wife, and you would, what?, merely ignore yours in favor of a house slave you picked up in battle?” Nasir hissed the words out, but instantly regretted them when he saw the look upon Agron’s face. The large German looked as if he had been stabbed. The man had been crucified and cut from thigh to shoulder and had looked as if it pained him less than Nasir’s words.

“How can you voice such words?” Agron’s voice began to rise, drawing the attention of those on the boat and the men on the docks. “Spartacus loved only his wife. I, of course, loved Klara, but my heart beats only for you. She is the mother of my child, how could I not love the woman?” 

“Your child? You have a child? Another secret kept from loving ears? And for what purpose?”

“I had not spoken about them because I thought them both dead. Better to leave the past dead rather than bring faded memories of specters to life only for them to haunt you. I had a son, Nasir, a baby son no more than a year old when I was captured by the fucking Romans. What would you have me do? What would you have me say? That my love for you is a lie? That my love for my wife and child was a lie? I will give voice to neither fucking statement as they both would ring false. I am one man but have had two lives. Both of them have been ripped away from me and for some fucking purpose given back after torturous experience. As the fucking gods delivered me back to you from fucking cross, so too do they deliver my fucking family to me after years of slavery and battle. Do you not fucking understand?” Agron was visibly shaking, his fists clenched and muscles tightened. Nasir had never seen Agron turn his full rage toward him, not even when he believed that Nasir was interested in Castus. 

“Will you yet love me when your eyes gaze once more upon the mother of your child, your wife, your Klara?” Nasir lowered his voice, tears welling in his eyes. Agron looked as if he were going to burst into flames from the shear confusion he was experiencing. His eyes narrowed, their gaze piercing into Nasir, his jaw clenched and moved as he gnawed on his lip. Part of him wanted to fight Nasir, to choke him or hit him for not understanding, for making this more difficult than it had to be. That much was clear from the fact that Agron was still poised to strike. But there was another instinct present, one that Nasir had tuned into over the past years. Agron was struggling with an urge to swoop Nasir into his arms and devour him in a passionate kiss, a kiss to prove his love. Instead of doing either, the large German threw his hands in the air and stormed off of the dock, away from Nasir and from their fight.

“Fucking Germans.” Nasir muttered as he spun on his heel to help his compatriots off of the ship. He was surprised to see them all just standing behind him, wide eyed, all except Laeta, who was silently crying, and Amelius who looked as stoic as ever. 

“Laita, for what purpose do you shed tears? Agron will return when his temper has cooled and his thoughts have cleared. It is his way.”

“It is not that, it is only that his wife, Klara, carried the child of a man who loved her and whom she loved. Sybil has the same gift. I loved Spartacus, not as I loved my husband, but I loved him. I knew he did not and could not love me, but I did not think I would bear his child. It is a reminder of a pain that I thought I would not feel. He never loved me, as you said, he loved only his wife.”

“Laeta. Apologies. Words were spoken in haste and anger, they were not born of clear thought. Spartacus loved you. As you said, not as he loved his wife, nor you your husband, but as much as he could. You carry within you the child of one of the greatest men to walk this Earth. Your son or daughter will grow up hearing tales of legendary father, but they will grow up knowing loving touch of kind mother.”

“Come now, it would be wise to find Agron as none of us speak German, and it seems unlikely that any of these people speak Latin.” Amelius broke his stoicism, to place his hand upon Laeta’s shoulder, offering as much comfort as the old man could. The small band of the surviving rebels walked down the docks, and after a confusing and tiring silent conversation made with gestures with the local men, discovered that the town and Agron both lie East of the dock. They set off on the path, completely silent. Fabius and Elianus spoke to one another in hushed whispers, occasionally chuckling at what the other said, but otherwise, the group remained quiet until they reached the town. Nasir had been hoping that he would find Agron upon the path or upon entrance into the town, but was disappointed. 

The town was shockingly large and busy. In fact, this actually seemed like one of the largest towns they had come across since they left Rome. Nasir was shocked at how large it was given the small port. There was a market in the center of town where the group of rebels collected themselves and searched for water and food. Nasir was able to use his limited knowledge of German to barter with an elderly woman behind a bread stand to secure three loafs of bread and a jug of water and a jug of ale for the price of only one jug of ale. 

“She was taken with your looks.” Sibyl giggled into Nasir’s ear, as she sipped on the water jug.

“She was simply confused by the darkness of my skin. All here seem quite fair. I doubt they have every laid eyes upon someone from Syria.” Nasir cautiously sniffed the ale, scrunching his nose at the odd scent. It certainly smelled nothing like the fruity aroma of Roman wine. He took a sip and immediately choked it down. If it had not been for his intense thirst, he was sure he would have spat it out. “How do people drink this? It tastes as if the water itself has gone bad.”

“Nasir, forget that for a moment. Is that Agron over there? Do you think that is his wife he is talking to?” Sibyl barely whispered the last question, almost as if she meant for only herself to hear it. It mattered not, though, since Nasir shared the same thought. Was this Klara? Was this the woman who shared ownership of his lover’s heart?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! As always, please leave your feedback, comments, questions. I am always trying to improve in my creative writing and your feedback really helps! Plus, it just helps me stay motivated to keep writing.


	13. Ghosts of the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new "journey" begins as the remaining rebels seek to make their home in this German town. Not beta'd apologies.

Her dark hair spilled down around her face and onto her fair shoulders. Lines that Agron had not remembered ever existing now etched their way across Klara’s face, as ravines on the earth. They did not detract from her beauty but instead simply gave her a bit more of a stern expression when her face was still, something Agron was sure must have been helpful while raising his son. Agron had not willingly lay with a woman since Klara, but instantly found himself overtaken by her beauty and the memories of their bodies entwined. Their passion had been entirely different from what he found with Nasir. As he mentioned, their love had been young and shallow, something based entirely on necessity and lust, but standing here talking to her now, seeing the woman she grew into, the fire burning in her dark green eyes, Agron realized that he could have found a deeper love with Klara had he not been taken. But that realization was immediately washed away by the steely greeting he had received from his wife. The years had stolen her innocence and hardened her, even to him.

“Klara, where is my boy? Where is Doric?” Agron’s voice was hushed, his head lowered, eyes barely meeting those of his wife. How could he return, expect to be a father to his son, after having been removed from his family for ten years?

“Agron. I already broke fucking words, he joins his father, in pasture.” Klara’s eyes widened, the fire in them burning more intensely.

“I am his fucking father, Klara. He is my son.”

“He may have your blood, but he is not your son. I took new husband in your absence. We would have fucking died, Agron. Those Roman shits followed us on foot until we reached this village. They sheltered us here, they defended us against the Romans. I would have starved had it not been for Erik. Doric has known only him as a father, and he is fucking good one too. He has no idea that Erik is not his father, and it shall fucking remain that way.”

“Klara, you cannot fucking keep my son from me. I do not give shit who Erik is or what he has fucking done. I did not ask to be taken by those fucking Romans. I led a fucking rebellion, I was fucking crucified, I saw the best men I have ever known die in name of freedom in valiant but vain attempt to escape the clutch of Rome. Do not think me a simple fucking fool you can push around. I will fucking have my son.” Agron punched the clay wall beside him, not able to control his temper, but not able to raise a hand against his wife, even in these circumstances. He turned on his heel and headed back into the market square. 

“Agron” Sibyl called out. “Agron.” The power behind her voice still new to her. She had spent so many years as a caged kitten in Sinuesa. When she finally tasted freedom she wanted only to touch and smell and see the man who had given her freedom. She was still a slave, but at least a slave to her own heart. Now that Gannicus was but a cherished memory, and she one of the leaders of the rebels, she had to find her own voice and her own freedom. The kitten grew into a ferocious tabby, able to claw and bite and chase anything that stood in her way, but that did not stop the kitten inside her from being surprised every time she did so.

Sibyl’s voice echoed around the square, pulling Agron’s attention away from his anger and the ground upward toward the smiling young woman and…oh…and Nasir. Agron was unsure he could handle that right now. It was enough to have one lover being a stubborn pain in the ass, let alone two. Nevertheless, Agron craved Nasir’s calming touch and soft kisses. He needed to be soothed from the wrath that threatened to consume him. The battle-scarred German found himself stomping over to his comrades, unsure of what to say to Nasir. Nasir, simply stared at Agron, thoughts almost visibly swirling through his head, the Syrian chewed on his lower lip, obviously attempting to prevent his own tongue from betraying him.

“Agron, was that your wife? She rivals Juno herself in beauty.” Sibyl bounced from foot to foot, her eyes shifting between the two men. She used to love silence, live for it, since silence meant safety. But now, she found it uncomfortable and threatening. She’d rather have Agron and Nasir arguing that standing festering with anger.

“That is my cunt of a wife. Her name is Klara. Her new shit of a husband goes by the name of Erik. She has fucking seen it fit to raise my son with him, as if Erik was the fucking father.” The bitterness seeped from Agron’s mouth. He could not look at Sibyl or Nasir, he could barely bring himself to form the words. All of the emotions were beginning to overwhelm him. From the moment the men mentioned Klara’s arrival at the village after their own town had been overrun with Romans, Agron’s mind had been racing with thought of joyful reunions with his wife and son. Certainly he would stay with Nasir, but Klara would be happy to have two men around the house instead of one. And Doric would benefit from having two fathers to teach him battle skills and the like. Agron only now began to see that he was living a fantasy for those brief moments. Tears began to fall silently from his eyes as his body shook with anger, confusion, regret, remorse, and disappointment.

“Agron, such news weighs heavy on the heart. Perhaps the shock of lost husband returned from shores of the afterlife caused harsh words. Give time, the woman might be swayed to your needs.” Nasir stood, placing his once-soft hand against Agron’s cheek. All of the anger and betrayal he felt melted away when he saw his lover in pain. The Syrian gently swept his thumb across the larger man’s face, wiping away the few tears that rolled down his cheeks.

“His is my son, Nasir. My son.” Agron’s voice was so quiet that only Nasir could hear him. “His name is Doric. The last time I laid eyes upon him he could fit in my hands.” Agron cupped his hands mimicking how he held his son all those years ago. “Ten years, Nasir. Ten years. The boy is a stranger now. If he stands like his father he would be about this tall.” Agron held his hand up to his chest, just below where his pectorals met his ribs. “In only a few more years he will be able to grow a beard. How am I to present myself? Lost father he never knew existed? General of a failed rebellion?” Nasir pressed his lips to Agron’s to stop the man from continuing.

“Shh. All will fall as it is meant to. Come, let us find the others and find shelter for the night.”

“Nasir, I love you more than life itself. You know that this is not meant to be a betrayal to you.”

“I know. I understand the reason behind unspoken words, and the importance of current task. As long as you share bed with me each night, I will be yours. I would be yours even if you did not, but you would have receive my spear.” Nasir smiled then let out a fake hiss as if he were in battle. Agron raised an eyebrow seductively, catching the double meaning his lover intended.

“Is that promise?”

“An oath to the gods themselves.” The two shared another kiss before Nasir turned his attention toward Sibyl. “Sibyl, did you see where Elianus and Fabius ran off to? I expect that they are starting trouble of some sort.”

“I did not, but Laeta emerges from a tent. Perhaps she will know.” Sibyl waved down the red-haired woman. Agron again was reminded of the once soft and curvaceous woman who had become all angles, hardened by the rebellion. She flashed a smile toward them and fixed her hair, pulling it back into place. He face and neck were flushed, beyond what would be expected from the warm rays of the sun. Beads of sweat gathered around her brow, and she readjusted what remained of her dress as she walked toward them.

“I have secured us a place to stay this evening. Do you know where Fabius and Elianus are? I’m sure they are up to no good.”

“Laeta, how did you secure our housing?” Nasir quietly prodded, knowing exactly what she had done.

“I used the only gifts I have remaining. I am already with child, so there is no risk with taking a man to my thighs.”

“He forced himself upon you to give you our housing?” Agron’s voice rose again, his temper even quicker to flare than normal.

“Calm yourself, Agron. There was no objection on my part, in fact offer was first formed by lips. We have no coin, Agron. Certainly none that they would take here. Ask Nasir how he purchased that ale and bread if you need further proof that we are even more destitute than we stood in Rome.” Laeta unknowingly pushed Nasir back into the path of Agron’s wrath. The man turned to look at his lover, menacingly.

“You took to bed with another man as well? For ale and fucking bread?”

“Agron, be fucking still. I committed no such act. A woman in the market was taken with my looks, I but traded silver necklace for goods. Laeta stands correct. We need to find coin. But first we need to find Fabius and Elianus. And, of course,” Nasir hurriedly added at the worried look upon Agron’s face, “we will find your son.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, feedback is appreciated and welcomed.


	14. The beginning of the end

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's almost all over, but there's a price to pay for an ending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry about the delay in updates. I've been distracted and unsure of how to proceed. I have a plan now. Also heads up, there's some death and dark stuff in this chapter.

The final few golden rays of sunlight had begun to fade, painting the sky the color of a rich amethyst, when the five rebels regrouped by the small fountain in the town center. 

"Have any laid eyes upon the boys?" Agron was still distracted by his earlier interactions with Klara, but the boys' absence was beginning to worry him. His heavy brow furrowed more than usual, and his boyish grin was noticeably absent from his face leaving only the mark of concern. 

"Agron, I fear the worst." Sybil, of course. Agron thought to himself, of course it was fucking Sybil who would solidify his own fears. Images of the two young boys sprawled out, bloody and lifeless flashed into his head, sending a shock of renewed energy through Agron's body. No sooner had the thought creeped into Agron's mind than did Elianus explode into the town square from behind a dingy brown house. As he stumbled into the town square, Elianus's head swiveled around, his eyes wide, chest heaving, searching for something. When his eyes locked onto Agron's large form, he hurried across the town square, tears beginning to erupt from his eyes.

"Agron. Agron. Fabius. They have Fabius. We have to help. They're hurting him." Elianus choked out his words as quickly as he could, but the tears and fear made him almost incomprehensible to the large German man.

"Still yourself. Hold tears, they have no place in battle. Now, with able tongue, give voice to what happened." Agron stooped down, leveling his face with Elianus's, forcing a smile to calm the young man. 

"We were hunting in woods beyond town walls. Fabius ran ahead to scout. He fell from vision and that is when I heard them. Drums and horns and voices. Fucking Romans, Agron. I climbed into a tree to gain sight. Fabius was strung up by two romans, dragging him back to camp. Agron, I heard him scream. I saw him try to fight his way free. That is when the Romans hit him with the butt of a sword. He started bleeding but must have lost consciousness. They have him, Agron. We have to help.”

“Shit. Nasir, Sibyl, prepare yourselves. We follow Elianus to the Romans. Laeta, you and Amelius take to shelter that you secured. We will return by dawn.” Agron growled out his orders. Had he really thought they had outrun the Romans? Did he really let himself have hope that he and Nasir could live here with Doric as his son? Did he really think he would be allowed to be happy? Fuck the gods. If they wanted him to be miserable to his death, then so be it.

“Agron, I would go with you. It may be prudent to have Sibyl remain with Laeta.” Agron had nearly forgotten that Amelius could speak, since he did so infrequently. “These women are with child. If there is to be hope for new life, we need to protect them.”

“You make sound point. I will not hear argument.” Agron cut off Sibyl and Laeta who both moved to argue their worth. “Plan has been made and set. Let us stay the path. We will see you before sun rises. Elianus, lead us.” With that the old man, the young boy, the Syrian, and the German raced out of the town, leaving the two women together.

“Fucking men. Do you intend to stay path?” Laeta scoffed, eyeing Sibyl. Secretly, deep in her heart, she hoped Sibyl would want to stay, to protect their unborn children. Laeta knew, however, that even if they did stay, they would not be safe. She knew what they had to do.

“Absolutely not. Shall we follow?”

“The gods could not stop us.”  
******

Deep in the woods, the band of men had found the Roman camp. Agron gritted his teeth as he saw Fabius nailed to a cross in the middle of the camp. Romans were taking turns whipping and flaying the young boy. His cries had ceased long ago and now only gargled grunts escaped the boys lips with each hit or cut, as his head lulled forward.

“We are too late. He has crossed into the afterlife.” Elianus sobbed out. The young boy’s eyes quietly shed tears, wary of reproach from Agron.

“There is life within that body yet. Today is as good as any to die fighting Romans. I have had enough of running, of helplessly watching lives end. Elianus, run back to town, and inform the women that we may not be returning.” Agron whispered his orders, silently letting go of any hope of a life of content peace with Nasir that he had held. He grabbed the Syrian, kissed him passionately on the lips. Memorizing the warmth of his lips and tongue. Silently carving the musky, sweet smell of Nasir in his memory. “Come. Let us see this to its end.”

Without hesitation, the four men stood, filling the air with their battle cries. Elianus ran back toward town, far from the battle of the Roman camp. The remaining three men bared their teeth and arms, leaping over a fallen log, into the Roman camp, slicing and stabbing as many Romans as they could. Within seconds, the entire camp of Romans had descended upon the three men, who fought back to back. Agron’s sword was soaked in blood, Romans attacking him two and three at a time. His heart raced, but his focus was narrowed to the fight. He loved this. The rage and desperation he was so familiar with burned like a fuel, pushing his fight from the background. He felt like he was dancing with clumsy partners, his moves elegant and thoughtful, those of the Romans being clunky and ridiculous. As they fell to the ground dead at Agron’s sword, their bodies tripped up their comrades.

Nasir’s focus was split between listening to Agron’s sword clashing against Romans and fending off the Romans who attacked him. He had already accepted that he was going to die. He accepted that the day his villa was stormed by Spartacus, what felt like a lifetime ago. Since then, he was grateful for every day he had with Agron and the rebels. This day, this day was no different. He had not started to hope for a future, so this battle felt no different. He was prepared to die and that freed him to fight risking his life liberally. But his movements were always geared toward defending Agron’s flank, channeling the Romans he could toward himself. It was in one of these moments that he felt the piercing pain in his chest. He looked down and saw the sword, rammed through his body. Nasir hissed in anger and pain, stabbing the offending Roman through the eye with his spear. As he did this, Romans flooded in, their swords joining the first in Nasir’s body.

“NASIR! NO!” Agron cried, enraged when he sensed his lover fall to the ground. He shifted instinctively, his back now to only Amelius. His rage flamed through his body. Agron started advancing ripping through Romans, two or three at a time. He did not feel the blades that did manage to break his skin, though none made lasting damage. He did not notice the arrows whipping through the air, striking Romans that he could not reach. The world was a blur, he saw only rage, hate, and these fucking Romans. 

In what felt like an eternity but also nothing more than a second, Agron fell to his knees, pain racking his body. The Romans in the camp, maybe 50 or 100 were dead. Amelius was dead, a sword rammed through his back the moment Agron had begun his berserker advance. Fabius was dead, his throat slit the moment the men had attacked the camp. Nasir was… Agron could not bring himself to think it. Nasir was… Agron stood, and began frantically searching through the bodies, hunting for his lover. His search was made easy by the fact that Nasir was the only shirtless body on the ground. His tan skin darkened and slicked with blood and dust. 

Agron again fell to his knees, pulling Nasir’s body into his lap, caressing his hair. Tears streamed down the German’s face as he rocked, weeping over his dead lover and best friend. In moments, he was joined by Laeta and Sibyl, the two woman also weeping, their hands upon Agron’s back.

“Agron, we have to leave.” Sibyl uttered the words, barely audible to anyone. “Agron, please. We can take Nasir and Fabius with us, but we cannot stay.”

Sibyl stood alongside Leata, and the two women pulled Agron to his feet. The large man not fighting them, no longer crying, just staring down. It was a blessing that Nasir and Fabius were both small of frame. Laeta and Sibyl fashioned a method of transport, using the canvas of the Roman tents as a method to pull the bodies without dragging them directly upon the ground.

As they proceeded slowly toward the town Sibyl and Laeta were both silently overwhelmed with questions. How would they go on? How would Agron survive? What next? Their burdens, the bodies of their comrades, the weight of a nearly catatonic Agron, and the greatest weight of all, the uncertainty of how to move on, nearly crushed the women during their advance. But they survived today, that is all they could ask for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!!! Please leave comments, reviews, questions, or critiques. I am always trying to improve my writing and story telling and value your feedback.


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